A Bouquet of Scandals
by languidbones
Summary: "You love like a lunatic, and nobody will look twice at me if I'm with you." All Rose Weasley wants are two things: to study Grindylows in peace, and survive her final year in Hogwarts without scandal. Which, of course, is where Scorpius Malfoy comes in.
1. The Bargain

_Oh dear, this one came out of nowhere. Please review if you'd like me to continue! I promise to be done with Art & Alchemy soon - I just need time to sit down and finish it._

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Bargain**

Not again.

Rose Weasley's vision clouded around the edges as the article stared back at her.

 **ROSE WEASLEY CAUGHT IN YET ANOTHER PUBLIC ACT OF INDECENCY  
** **Son of the Head of Magical Sports Department now Weasley's newest conquest**

And under the squawking headline was a moving picture of her caught in Winston Hedge's muscular arms, in the midst of sweeping, passionate kiss.

Oh, Merlin.

Despite the rising panic in her chest, Rose squinted at the picture. Her headphones were knocked askew, and she looked bug-eyed from shock. Hedge, on the other hand, looked right at home with his hands up her skirt.

Up. Her. Skirt.

In the name of Dumbledore. Her father was going to get conniptions, and her mother—well, Hermione was a little more understanding about Rose's sad plight in the wizarding media. But this was a new low, even for Rose.

As a highly respected official in the Minstry of Magic, surely it would be difficult for even Hermione to come to terms with seeing her daughter getting groped in the papers.

Rose groaned inwardly. It was a cool autumn day on the Hogwarts grounds, and now it was all ruined for her. In a few hours, there would be a scathing letter from her parents—no Howlers, because the family had learned that Howlers hadn't stopped Rose from getting bad press—and perhaps owls of sympathy from Uncle Harry and her grandparents.

Of all the Weasley-Potter children, the media had been most unforgiving with Rose.

These scandals were torturous for a girl who lacked interest in dating from a young age. She always had more affection for magical creatures and the study of them. After all, why speak of butterflies in the stomach when Winged Poppies held more magic in reality? Why drown in the depths of a first kiss, when there was so much to discover in the realm of river beasts?

Rose knew, on some level, that all of this was partly her fault. All this attention was due to her approachable nature, Lily once told her with a teasing grin. Rose was too open, too kind, too encouraging, without meaning to be—and, as a result, she had always been highly sought after by boys. Winston Hedge… Roland Cliff… Jamie Wilkins… whatever the name was, boys seemed drawn to her like bees to honey. Yet, Rose's unbridled curiosity hindered her attention to romantic signals. How was she to know that when a boy talked to her about Manticores, it meant he wanted to go out with her?

All she had wanted to do with Winston Hedge was to discuss Manticores, and look where that landed her.

Heck, boys were a mystery to Rose. At least magical creatures could be studied.

While Rose's disinterest in boys delighted Ron immensely, it had proven to be her undoing the moment she was old enough to be courted. Since her fourth year, incessant confessions and publicly romantic gestures from boys had turned her into the media's prime target. The narrative was always the same: Rose Weasley has been found again in a compromising position by some eligible young wizard.

And, if the media had their way, it wouldn't be long until the next one.

It was no thanks to her naivety that the wizarding world thought her to be some coy, flirtatious creature.

And now, a year from graduation, Rose was over it. She was going to put a stop to these scandals.

Even if it meant taking drastic measures.

* * *

Drastic measures was how Rose found herself standing before Scorpius Malfoy one chilly afternoon in Hogsmeade, the social section of the Daily Prophet clutched in her balled fist.

Scorpius Malfoy was a friend of Albus', and was as curiously handsome as his name. Her brother Hugo once announced Scorpius and his pal, Tarquin Zabini, as tied for the title of Most Eligible Bachelor in Hogwarts.

It had tickled Rose, at that point in time, to realise how boy-crazy Hugo was in comparison to her. She loved her gangly, outspoken younger brother dearly, and was thankful that the media deemed him worthy enough to be left alone. Despite Hugo's 'flaming bisexuality', as he liked to call it, his undisputed brilliance as England's youngest Wizard's Chess champion had acquitted him of undeserving headlines in the social section of the Daily Prophet.

Rose, of course, wasn't quite so lucky.

She saw Scorpius in school often enough. Even if he wasn't a friend of Albus, it was impossible to miss him in her classes, or even when he strode across the hallways, his gaze clear and sharp. There was nothing dull or subtle about Malfoy—he was a force of nature, a virile presence that filled any room he entered. Perhaps it was the fact that he towered over most people, or his aristocratic, fine-boned features, crowned by impeccable silver-blond hair… He was objectively beautiful in all the ways that counted.

And now, as Malfoy stared down at her with the mildest of incredulity in his expression, Rose almost wished she could take the words back.

Almost, but not quite.

"My ears must be deceiving me," Scorpius was saying slowly, his voice low against the bustle of the Hogsmeade crowds behind him. "You want me to be your _what_?"

"You heard me." Rose fumbled nervously with the headphones hanging over her neck. She never went anywhere without them—they helped conceal the whispering and gossip whenever those silly scandals broke out. As a passing group of students glanced their way, she had an overwhelming urge to put them on again. "It's not a big deal. Look, I just want to get through seventh year unscathed."

"By what?"

"A scandal." Rose felt her cheeks heat up as a look of comprehension dawned on Scorpius' face. "That wasn't how it looked like."

He smiled mirthlessly. "Everyone knows Hedge is obsessed with you." His gaze raked over her. "I suppose I can understand why."

"It's unrequited. He ambushed me like all the rest." Rose folded her arms, refusing to be intimidated by his lack of enthusiasm. "So will you do it? I promise it will be relatively painless. I require no maintenance."

Scorpius raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I don't need to go on dates. No love letters. No surprise gifts. Definitely no PDA. Everyone just needs to think we're together and that will be the end of it. I'll even let you dump me at graduation, as publicly as you want. I can take it. At least that won't have anything to do with me being a hussy."

Scorpius snorted.

"That's what they call me!" Rose waved the Daily Prophet at Scorpius, who took it from her with an almost serene calmness. He glanced at the article, and she thought she spotted a familiar amusement in his eyes, the kind that came when he was up to no good with Albus and Tarquin.

"A conquest," he said at length. "And you don't think you and I getting together will be a scandal in itself? Albus will skewer me, not to mention your father. The media will have a field day. Which goes against your intentions, does it not?"

"Well, we'll let them in on the plan," Rose said, suddenly desperate. "They'll understand my plight. Please. I can't be deflecting confessions all year. And—and you're the only one they're afraid of."

Scorpius glanced sharply at her, and Rose had the distinct impression that she had crossed an invisible line somewhere.

"And you?" she heard him say, his voice now dangerously quiet. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Not any more than I am of a Doxy," Rose said defiantly, ignoring the slight quaver in her voice. "I have no interest in you. And I've seen the girls you get with. I don't suppose I'm your type."

He stepped closer to her then, the length of his body a hair away from hers, his warm breath by her temple. Rose blinked, unwittingly taking a step back. Scorpius followed, and then Rose felt the rough brick against her palms. It reminded her of all the times she was ambushed by boys, for a kiss or a confession, and a familiar dread rose in her stomach. Even so, she forced herself to meet Scorpius' eyes.

"No," he whispered. "You're not. But I could still eat you up and spit you out, Weasley. You don't know what you're asking for."

"You're jealous," Rose said, with maddening sureness. "You're possessive and controlling. No man can make eyes at the girl on your arm without incurring your wrath. You love like a lunatic, and nobody will look twice at me if I'm with you. So you're wrong—I know exactly what I'm getting into." She felt a sudden heat at the back of her collar at the memory of Scorpius' passionate tryst with her friend Georgia Plumes two years ago.

Georgia Plumes, so carefree and bright-eyed, who single-handedly turned Malfoy from a charming playboy into a destructive, lovelorn man.

Their separation had been so severe that Hogwarts rocked in its wake—Georgia had dumped Scorpius publicly, in front of the whole school, and to his fury she had hopped right into Wallace Bolt's bed barely a day after. Bolt had lived in fear for his life for days after, so terrified he was to be the object of Scorpius' rage.

Rose liked Georgia, but she was not the sort of girl who could be held down by one person. And despite his feelings for her, she certainly was never in love with Malfoy.

"Is that what they're saying?"

Rose was brought back to the present by the imperceptible smile on Scorpius' face. It was odd, how she'd always thought that she was aware of what Scorpius looked like. But now, so close to him, she could see the devil was in the details—the sensual slant of his lips, lashes dark against his light eyes, the unspoken wickedness in the the way he studied her. Rose knew she wasn't unpretty, but she had no illusions that half of her attractiveness to the opposite gender came from her very famous name.

He was no stranger to famous names, and had no reason to be looking at her like that.

She refused to be cowed by him. Pfah, so he was handsome. Big deal. So was Buckbeak.

"They've said worse. About you. About me." Rose took a deep breath, suddenly aware of a flurry of movement to the left of her. The signs were all there. Lingering students, odd whispering—she would have to use it all to her advantage. She raised her chin, more determined than ever. "And it's time we shut them up about it, don't you think?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Your reputation. Obviously. You're going to be a reasonable boyfriend to me, aren't you? Not at all mad or possessive or any of those things. Nothing of that nonsense with Georgia. You'll be redeemed. We'll be a model couple. Then I'll allow you to dump me as publicly as you like, and that will be your legacy. Dumping a Weasley."

At this, Scorpius let out a bark of laughter. "Merlin, you've really thought this through, haven't you?"

"Malfoy. I just want to study Grindylows in peace. And if it means being with you, then so be it." A loose crowd was gathering now. Rose gave Scorpius a somewhat apologetic smile, lifting her headphones to her ears. Mozart— _how wonderful,_ she thought absently.

Then, before Scorpius could react, she said, as loudly as she could, "Oh, Scorpius! Of _course_ I'll go out with you!"

Shock crossed Scorpius' features, but it was too late—the cameras were flashing, and students and journalists alike had gathered around them. Rose couldn't hear them past the Mozart, but from the wide-eyed fury on Scorpius face, she supposed a little kiss wouldn't hurt.

So she jumped on her toes, fisted the front of his sweater, and brought his lips down to hers. To anyone else, the way his fingers fisted in her hair was an act of passion.

To her, it was a warning. She pulled away from the abrupt kiss, flashed him a grin, then ducked under his arm and scampered off.

Scorpius Malfoy was officially a Weasley conquest—and one she planned to keep.


	2. The Crisis

_Wow, thanks for the support! I'm happy to know some of you are just as excited as I am about this one. Do review if you like this. I hope to introduce Hugo in the next chapter - look forward to that._ **  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Crisis**

The gall of Rose Weasley.

Scorpius had stormed back from Hogsmeade with the paparazzi on his heels, a biting fury threatening to leave him in the form of expletives. In no time, the news would be all over the papers, and he was going to be murdered by the Malfoy clan. Most specifically his grandfather.

Not that Scorpius cared what Lucius thought, but the old man could be very trying in times of crisis.

A crisis…

Scorpius wasn't even sure if that was the right word for his predicament. Hell, most boys wouldn't exactly call Rose Weasley a crisis. Of course, she wasn't quite as stunning as Albus' sister Lily, who possessed a conventional prettiness, but even so… There was something rather quaint and wholesome about Rose that men found hard to resist.

Perhaps it was her sincerity—the very same quality that was, ironically, her downfall. The wizarding world may have unfairly labeled Rose a hussy, but everyone in Hogwarts knew otherwise.

Rose Weasley simply wasn't interested enough in boys to warrant a scandal.

Somehow, Scorpius had always been aware of her existence, constant on the periphery of his own; her relationship with Albus formed a separate thread that didn't include him. Her found her odd, to say the least. Absolutely absorbed in the academics of magical beasts, speaking the language of fairies and looking just like one when she felt like it.

He could still recall the first time he noticed her, not as a girl but as a woman, back in fifth year. There was a Yule Ball, and Rose had turned up in a wispy silver dress that looked to be spun from moonlight, her long, careless red hair spooled between her neck and headphones as she tossed her shoes aside on the dance floor. She had looked like an exquisite thumbelina, perhaps resembling one of those peculiar imps she loved to study.

Of course the boys had gone mad for her. Hogwarts never quite recovered from that night.

And neither did Scorpius, because of the way Georgia Plumes ruined him after the Yule Ball.

He had made a concerted effort not to think about it, the humiliation of being rejected so thoroughly by someone you had all but worshipped. Scorpius was left unhinged by the breakup, and the papers had gotten wind of it. _Young_ _Malfoy threatens fellow student with Unforgiveable Curse_ , was the working headline across the media.

Draco had been furious. Scorpius' father had worked hard to keep the family's name clear of scandal, but in one fell swoop, he had undone everything.

The most unforgiveable thing was losing control like that over a girl.

It was utterly unbecoming, especially for a Malfoy.

Never again.

And yet Rose Weasley had spoken so candidly about the topic, in a manner that not even Tarquin or Albus could. His friends, bless them, had tiptoed around the subject with Scorpius, but not Rose. She went straight in for the kill. It was almost a relief to hear her speak of that night with refreshing detachment, as though the heartbreak was merely a random incident that had happened to somebody else.

And then there was the matter of that kiss.

Scorpius uttered an inward groan. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't been close to a girl since Georgia, but Rose's effect on him had been embarrassing, to say the least. Now, a whole hour later, he could still feel the sensual warmth of her rosebud lips, damp and sweet on his mouth, her slight frame pressed gently into his.

The gesture was innocent enough. And yet here he was, replaying the sensation of her in his mind, his entire body humming with pleasure and urgency to taste just a little more of her...

What the hell. Maybe he'd really gone too long without a girl, and his hormones were finally staging a full-fledged protest.

The door of the dormitory flew open, and Scorpius looked up to see Albus Potter's blazing green eyes.

In an instant, Scorpius found himself hoisted to his feet by the collar. Anyone else would be shaking in their pants—an angry Potter was not to be trifled with—but Scorpius only rolled his eyes.

"It's true, then? You and Rosie, Malfoy? This had better be some elaborate joke—"

"Albus—"

"It's bloody Rose we're talking about, she's gotten herself into enough trouble as it is, Uncle Ron is going to kill her, then you, holy hells, maybe even me just for letting it happen, I'm going to be collateral damage—"

"It _is_ an elaborate joke."

Albus paused abruptly. "What?"

Tarquin Zabini had appeared warily behind Albus, his dark hair windswept from what looked like running. No doubt he had chased an infuriated Albus down the hallways at the news. Rumours spread faster than fire in these parts.

"It's an elaborate joke," Scorpius said again, before recounting, word-for-word, Rose's strange proposition. As the story unfolded, Albus stared at him, a rather disturbing light entering his eyes. He broke into a gobsmacked grin, grabbing Scorpius by the collar again.

"It's perfect," he breathed. "It really is—"

"You're supposed to be rejecting the idea, and heading off to Gryffindor Tower to knock some sense into your cousin's head."

"No, I'm serious." There was a wonderment in Albus' expression. "Rose really is her mother's child."

"Sorry," Tarquin interjected, as polite as ever. "But why is this a brilliant idea? It looks like a greater scandal than the one with Hedge. Imagine, all the drama about a forbidden love between rivalling families…"

"Well, for one thing, Scorpius has no interest in her. Second, he has a reputation as a boyfriend from hell—"

"Thanks for that," Scorpius said flatly.

"—which means Rose will no longer be approached. And third, he's celibate! That makes Rose absolutely safe with Scorpius." Albus nodded affirmatively, smacking Scorpius' back with gusto. "Go forth, good sir."

Tarquin looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Celibate or not, it's not like Scorpius' goods are no longer working." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Unless they're not?"

"Oh, bugger off," Scorpius grumbled, falling back onto his four poster bed. "Do neither of you care how I feel about this?"

"Not really," Albus said airily, his former ire completely gone. He had the temperament of a headless chicken, Scorpius thought moodily. "There's no way you'd ever carry a torch for Rosie. Not your type in the least."

Scorpius eyed his friend with a raised eyebrow. "And what the hell is my type, exactly?"

"Well, Georgia Plumes was gorgeous," Tarquin mused, as Albus glanced sharply at him. "No slight to Rose, of course… she has her own charms. But she lives on a rainbow, just so you know. My conversations with her are certainly unique." His lips quirked slightly. "Every time I speak to her I increase my knowledge of Hippogriffs."

"If you like her so much," Scorpius said, feeling a surge of irritation, "I'll gladly pass the buck."

"He's betrothed, you idiot," Albus chortled. It was a fact that most of them readily forgot—that Tarquin had, from his childhood, been betrothed to Emery Nott, a fellow Slytherin. Even so, Tarquin was an incurable libertine, and continued to chase skirts throughout his school years. Scorpius had no idea what Emery thought about it; she didn't seem to care one way or another. Their relationship, if anything, felt more like that of siblings.

"I must say, though," Albus continued, the mirth fading slightly from his eyes, "if this is a scheme for Rose to be left alone, it's a fine one." He gave Scorpius a long, hard look. "And it may be good for you, too. You need to remember how to be normal around a girl again. Even if it's just Rose." He smiled. "Heck, you may even enjoy learning a thing or two about magical creatures."

* * *

Fair-haired Poppy Langdon could not contain her smile at the headline of the Daily Prophet's social section. The Head Girl had joined her friends Rose and Lily Potter for breakfast after the morning's Head Duties, and was amused to find Great Hall doused in a strangely reverent hush.

Students had their stares in two directions: the Slytherin table, and the Gryffindor table. Lily's face was positively alight with glee.

" _Another one down: Malfoy joins string of Weasley conquests_ ," she read from the Daily Prophet, as Poppy filled her teacup. "Goodness, Rose, of all people—"

"Malfoy is perfectly suitable," Rose said absently, scribbling away at her parchment.

Lily snorted ungracefully into her croissant. "Oh, I'm sure he's boyfriend material. He's got the criminal records to prove it."

Poppy found it curious that Rose had picked Scorpius Malfoy for her plan. The boy was broody at best, and unhinged at his worst. It was, however, not at all strange that the girl had gone ahead with the scheme without consulting her family or friends. That was how Rose Weasley operated—she lived on her own terms, and in kind, wholly accepted the same of others. And Poppy could hardly judge Rose's desperation. The less interested she was in boys, the more intense their declarations to her.

It had been funny in their fourth year. Three years later, not so much.

"Was it Hedge who did you in?" she wanted to know, slipping another sugar cube in her tea. "You couldn't have considered a safer option? One of the Scamanders, perhaps?"

Rose didn't deign to look up from her writing. "No one would care if Lysander was my boyfriend, he's much too laid back. And Lorcan…" She glanced furtively at Lily. "Well, Lorcan's occupied."

"By what?" Lily asked. Despite her burgundy locks, it was her wide green eyes that gave her a striking resemblance to Albus... though, of course, Poppy found Lily to be far more endearing than her talkative brother. She was one of those effortlessly pretty girls, and dated far more boys than any of her cousins. And yet the papers were stubborn for Lily to assume the label of ingenue for the Weasley-Potter clan.

Then again, Lily had mastered the art of discretion. Rose had never bothered.

"If you don't know by now," Rose was saying with a pained sigh, "then you shouldn't even be asking."

"Oh, Rosie, don't leave me out of the gossip…"

"Leave me alone, I'm writing!"

"Well," Poppy said, knowing it was quite impossible to have a civilised conversation with Rose when she was investigating a Grindylow or expounding on the finer qualities of a Troll, "the good news is not a single boy has approached you this morning. So maybe your plan's working?"

"Good riddance," came Rose's muffled voice.

"Are you writing about Grindylows again?" Lily whined, exasperated. Then, abruptly, she cleared her throat and straightened her back. "Uhhh… don't look now, but Hedge is coming this way."

Rose looked up blankly at Lily. "Who?"

"Winston. Up. Your. Skirt. Hedge."

"Bloody hell," Rose hissed, gathering her inks and books and cramming them into her bookbag. "What could he possibly want?"

"Closure, perhaps," Poppy murmured, eyeing the muscular form of Winston Hedge as he neared their seats. "In five, Rose."

"No—"

"Four…"

Poppy's countdown had Rose stumbling out of her seat and scurrying towards the doors of the Great Hall.

Unfortunately for her, Hedge's strides were far longer than hers, and he caught her just as she made her exit.

"Rosie," he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice, "Please. We need to talk."

"Do we?" Rose said, the heat blooming in her cheeks. "We discussed the Manticores pretty thoroughly, I thought—"

"My sweet, the news this morning—I must admit it caught me completely by surprise. Did he ambush you?"

Rose stared at Hedge, dumbfounded.

"Scorpius Malfoy," Hedge blubbered, holding up the Daily Prophet and looking positively heartbroken. "That's what must have happened. Surely you know what he's like? He's a dangerous man, even for you."

"Good," said Rose easily. "I like them dangerous. You know what else is dangerous?"

Hedge looked at her, perplexed.

Rose lowered her voice confidentially. "Grindylows."

"Grindylows, Rosie?"

"God, yes. But you don't see me avoiding them, do you?"

"I'm serious, Rosie. Malfoy isn't safe for you. He may even be violent—"

"He hasn't killed anyone, last I heard," Rose said brightly. "Well, this was a most charming conversation, Winston, but I really must—"

But Hedge had grabbed her arms and pushed her back against the wall.

"Listen to me," he said in a low voice. "I don't know what this thing is between you and Malfoy, but I must seize this opportunity to express my feelings."

"I'd prefer if nothing at all is seized, actually," Rose said, wincing as Hedge leaned in close, his breath hot against her cheek.

"Rose, please. You're not like any other girl I've ever met. I've loved you since we partnered in Hagrid's class last year… you're smart, you're adorable, you're utterly irreverent—"

"I assure you," Rose cut in, a touch of urgency in her voice, "I'm really like any other girl you've ever met. Look here, I even wear lip gloss—"

"That's where you're wrong." Hedge's nostrils flared with indignance. "No other girl makes me see stars… you're the most unique thing in this universe."

"I—really—am— _not_." Rose had dislodged herself from Hedge's hold, shifting quickly away from him and righting her bookbag on her shoulder. "Did you know Blaine Warrington is the master of Gobstones?"

Confusion filled Hedge's expression.

"Well, she beats me in every Gobstones challenge, and howls like a bloody Fwooper when she does. And if you've never talked to Denise Holding, then you're missing out on the most sickening puns on this side of the hemisphere. I'm not more unique than either of them… Oh, Winston, you must look a little harder at the girls around you."

Hedge gazed at her, misty-eyed. It was awful, how someone so good-looking could be reduced to this.

Rose felt sorry to be the one to do this to him.

An awkward moment passed, and then—

"Rose," came a low, silky voice, "why are you with someone else when you should be with me?"

Hedge and Rose turned sharply to see Scorpius leaning casually by the door of the Great Hall, a perverse amusement in his eyes.

"Malfoy," Hedge said, but there was a distinct unease in his tone. Despite his former bravado, a single look from Malfoy had him taking a step back from Rose.

"Hedge," Scorpius said coolly. "You heard the girl. She prefers Grindylows."

Grindylows… How much of their conversation had Scorpius heard? God, how mortifying.

But Hedge had only balled his fists, as though he was stopping himself from hitting something—most likely Scorpius. "If he ever lets you down," he said through gritted teeth, addressing Rose, "you know where to find me."

Rose watched in half-amazement as Hedge turned from them and headed down the hallways, his head lowered. She glanced back at Scorpius, who was watching her with a raised eyebrow, an elegant smile half-hidden behind his palm.

He was laughing.

"It's not funny," Rose said, feeling somewhat stung for Hedge's sake.

Scorpius shrugged, as though he didn't care either way. "You wanted to be rid of him. And I did it for you."

"How did you know we were here?"

"I'm pretty sure everyone in the Great Hall could hear you." There was an arrogant glint in his eye. "Would it have reflected well on me if I had just continued eating toast? What kind of boyfriend would that make me?" He snorted derisively. "…And what a pathetic confession that was."

Rose blinked slowly, as though still trying to grapple with his words. _Boyfriend…_ That's right, she had forced Scorpius into this deal, and the only reason he had appeared was to maintain the illusion of their get-together. No doubt Malfoy would not have people thinking he wasn't able to manage a situation involving his girlfriend. Despite herself, Rose knew Hedge never would have left her alone if any other man had approached them. She looked up at Scorpius' face, his breathtaking handsomeness carved not by any sort of wholesomeness or good will, but rather by an awful melancholy and spite. She recalled with a start that she had just kissed him two days before like it was nothing… Yet, she found his indifference towards Hedge's predicament appalling somehow.

How unkind he was. And how unattractive it made him.

Rose didn't know why she expected more of Scorpius Malfoy after all the things that were said about him, but she did.

"Please don't laugh at him," she said at last. "I didn't laugh when it happened to you."

And Rose turned on her heel and hurried off, her bookbag swinging at her side. Scorpius watched her go, his smile fading from his face.


	3. The Terms

_Thanks for the reviews! :D Let me know if you like this one._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Terms**

A few days later, the cousins were huddled at a corner of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, reading the hilariously furious letters from the Granger-Weasley household.

Or rather, it was hilarious to the rest of them. Rose found it all quite appalling. She hated to worry her parents.

"I think dad's head exploded," Hugo confided with a straight face, as Albus snatched the letter from his hands. "He should have written the letters in the blood of his sworn enemy, Crookshanks the Second. Really would have drilled his point home, I think."

"Oh, Uncle Ron has the most awful handwriting," Lily said, her eyes alight with mirth. "I can't decide which letter is funnier? The one where he flipped out about Hedge's hand up her skirt, or the one that came right after—"

"Definitely the Malfoy one, dear sister," Albus said with a brilliant grin. "Says here, ' _And after the hoohaa with that half-wit Hedge, now you've gone and willingly had a tryst with Malfoy's spawn? This is unacceptable, Rosie! I am fairly sure he's as insufferable as his cocky, bald-scalped, ferret-faced_ —'" Albus stopped, barely disguising his glee. "Oh, he goes on to describe Mr Malfoy in less flattering ways. I never knew Uncle Ron possessed any sort of vocabulary."

"Passion makes any man a poet," Hugo quipped, his oversized glasses glinting as he shot Rose a knowing grin. With his crinkling doe eyes and boyishly cherubic appearance, her brother resembled the most gentle-natured of lads… a part he played to a tee. Anyone who looked at Hugo would believe him to be the one good apple amongst the devilry of Potters and Weasleys.

How wrong the world was about him, Rose thought wryly. Intellectual, chess wizard, hormone-crazed, and undercover mischief-maker— _that_ was Hugo, through and through. He could put Albus, James, and Fred to shame at a moment's notice… and not get caught for any of it.

Lily smiled kindly at Rose's troubled expression. "Oh, Rosie… It's not all bad. Uncle Ron can't stay mad forever. It's not like your relationship with Malfoy is for real, anyway." She paused. "I mean, if nothing else, he really is handsome."

"He is not," Albus said, the same time Hugo piped up, "I know right."

Albus shot Hugo a disturbed look. "My god, Hugo, I much prefer your taste in women. Who was it the last time? Nancy Gallagher, or something—"

"Who?"

"You have the attention span of a toothpick," Rose retorted affectionately, as Hugo cackled. "Well, Lily's right—this affair with Malfoy isn't permanent. It will keep me scandal-free until he dumps me at graduation."

Hugo and Lily stilled, the humour fading from their expressions. Rose blinked back at them, getting the distinct impression that she had said something very wrong indeed.

"Ex _cuse_ me?" Hugo snapped, raising an indignant hand. "You never said anything about getting dumped—"

"Nobody's dumping you," Lily cried. "Was this Malfoy's suggestion? Oh, I just bet it was—"

Albus clamped a firm hand on Rose's shoulder. "You. Me. Walk."

Hugo and Lily were on their feet at once, their protests ringing in Rose's ears. But Albus glanced pointedly at them and said, "I need to talk to Rose. You two stay out of it."

"You're boring, Al!"

"The worst!"

Albus ignored them, making for the exit in long, decisive strides. Rose shrugged at her grumbling brother and cousin before following him, swinging her bookbag over her shoulder as she went.

Within the family, Lily, Hugo, Albus and Rose shared a special friendship, but it was Albus that Rose felt most comfortable confiding in. Albus bore a frightening resemblance to her uncle Harry, but their personalities couldn't be any more different. He was free with his smiles and light-hearted in manner, and Rose privately found him to be the more likeable Potter son. Unlike James, who was often carried away by his own cleverness and showmanship, Albus was an authentic soul, and had never let his love of mischief cloud his judgment or dictate his conduct. And while he allowed his siblings and cousins to make their own mistakes, he was often a dependable pillar for all of them when they had to face the consequences.

Which was exactly why Rose found it baffling when Albus scowled childishly at the appearance of Poppy Langdon, who was approaching the entrance of the Great Hall with the Head Boy, Tristan Shacklebolt. Rose beamed at them and waved, but Albus didn't bother to acknowledge either of them, earning him a puzzled glance from Shacklebolt. As the pair of them passed, Rose turned back to Albus with a raised eyebrow.

"Not even a hello now, Al?"

"I'll say hello to whoever I want."

It was incredibly strange, how hostile Albus was towards Rose's best friend. Poppy had long learned to ignore Albus herself, but the mutual dislike had always been a mystery to Rose. Not for the first time, she wondered aloud, "Why don't you like her?"

"For the life of me, I can't understand why _you_ and Lily tolerate her." Albus' usually carefree expression was spoilt by the sulky purse of his lips. "Face it, Rosie. She thinks she's better than everyone else, and the only reason she's nice to you is because you're a Weasley."

Rose huffed in disbelief as the pair of them stepped out into the pale morning sunshine, the grass crushing under their feet. "That's completely untrue!"

"Then explain to me why every single one of her friends and boyfriends have famous last names." He snorted. "On to Shacklebolt now, isn't she? She's an utter social parasite."

"Shacklebolt is Head Boy. What do you expect her to do, ignore him when they're on Head duties?" Rose tucked her arm into her cousin's, stubbornly steering him to match her pace. "And we had a truce over Poppy. Third year, remember? I won't have you being mean to her. She's my most loyal friend."

"Loyal to your fame," Albus muttered.

"Well, I don't deny that she probably was attracted to it when we were younger. She's Muggle-born, what do you expect? It would only help her to have our folk as friends. Well, Lily and me, anyway." She smiled in relief as Albus finally slowed down, his untidy jet black hair curling wildly in the breeze. "And she's still much kinder than _your_ best friend."

"Who also happens to be your boyfriend."

"Who, I'm beginning to discover, is an awfully mean person."

"What, the headlines didn't make it clear enough for you?" Albus glanced at Rose, an amused grin lighting up his formerly cross features. "Mind you, he may have the temper of a madman, but he's certainly not mean."

"He was laughing at Winston Hedge." Just the memory of it was infuriating to Rose. "My god, Albus. If you were there to see it. Hedge had just poured his heart out to me—"

Albus feigned shock, placing a hand delicately on his chest. "Did he now."

"—and Scorpius just laughed about it! Like it all meant as little as a pile of Doxy shit!"

"Well, if we're going to be that specific…"

"You would think that after Georgia rejected him the way she did, he would have a little more compassion." Rose dropped her bookbag to the grass, folding her arms and trying not to fume. "How can someone who looks the way he does be so rotten on the inside?"

"To be fair, it was compassion that got you in trouble, dear cousin." Albus patted her arm, raising his eyes to the shimmering surface of the Great Lake. "Scorpius managed to stay out of trouble for a whole year after that scandal with Plumes, you know. You, on the other hand… how many was it? Seventeen or some great number, and that was just last year."

"Fifteen," Rose corrected sullenly.

"Yes, well, all I'm saying is maybe he knows a thing or two about damage control that you don't. Which is why you picked him, didn't you? Not just because he's supposedly rather dashing?"

"I knew he'd scare off the boys," Rose conceded with a heavy sigh. "I suppose he merely did what I asked him to… even if he wasn't nice about it."

"He's not nice, but he's no dark lord, either." Albus turned to Rose with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Scorpius told me everything. How you said you'd let him redeem his reputation by allowing him to publicly break up with you."

Rose shrugged, kicking a pebble sitting in the grass. "It wouldn't be a bigger deal than getting ambushed in Hogsmeade." She paused, blowing out her cheeks thoughtfully. "I don't know, Al. People still talk about that night, you know… that humiliation with Georgia. I felt really bad for him when it happened. No one deserves to be treated that way."

"And you do?"

"Well, I don't have feelings for Scorpius, so I doubt it'd hurt. And, as far as scandals go… I've never been dumped." She grinned, nudging Albus. "I'm sure he'd prefer to be remembered as the only guy in Hogwarts who managed to dump Rose Weasley."

"It's a better title than He Who Almost Unleashed An Unforgiveable."

Despite herself, Rose felt a twinge of sympathy for Scorpius. "Georgia must have meant a lot to him."

"Oh, don't pity him, you compassionate little fool," Albus said wryly, throwing an arm over Rose's shoulder. "He's better off for it. Plumes was no good for him… if she hadn't cheated on him then, they would have killed each other eventually."

* * *

Scorpius was leaning back in a sofa at the library, soaking in the mid-afternoon silence. The impending NEWTs had assured the seventh years of plenty of personal study time, which was what Scorpius preferred. He glanced out the window, spotting a group of younger students having a round of Quidditch on the pitch.

Almost instantly, he longed to join them. Quidditch always took his mind off things.

But for now, this letter.

His mother was the one who wrote him; he could only assume Draco would follow suit next week, after he had exhausted his frustration. Scorpius was close to both his parents—they were a team, he liked to think, and Lucius was the overbearing villain in their story—but he knew it would be difficult for his father to accept that his only son was somehow dating a Weasley.

His mother was, as always, cordial and kind in her correspondence, even if he could sense the trepidation in her questions. _Tell us more about this girl, Scorpius. What do you like about her?_

Scorpius tapped the quill to his chin.

What _did_ he like about Rose Weasley?

He supposed he could come clean with his parents and simply tell them the truth—that the only thing he had going for him here was the fact that he would get to dump Rose Weasley. It was utterly perplexing, how little importance Rose gave to a kiss and—apparently—to breakups.

Perhaps, he thought irritably, it was this careless, _laissez-faire_ attitude she had towards relationships that contributed to her shocking image in the media.

Hell… maybe even his parents thought the same of her. Scorpius cringed inwardly at the realisation.

"Is this seat taken?"

He raised his eyes to meet Rose's. She didn't look remotely mad at him anymore, just solemn and blue-eyed. The afternoon light poured in through the grey windows, illuminating her red hair and painting her a warm, golden hue. Her headphones were askew at her collar, the faint sounds of a classical symphony cutting through the silence of the library.

Scorpius rested his cheek on his knuckles, gesturing at the empty chairs around him. Oddly enough, she chose to share his seat.

He rested an arm along the edge of the sofa, his limbs spread out like a lazy house cat. Rose, on the other hand, was politely contained, her slight frame taking up a third of the space that he did. Scorpius raised an eyebrow at her.

"I just wanted to say thanks," she said awkwardly.

Well. That wasn't exactly what he expected. Then again, he wasn't sure what one could expect with a girl like Rose Weasley. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought her to be extending an olive branch of sorts.

"For doing what you did with Hedge, I mean," Rose continued, her gaze steely. "I was just a little annoyed that you laughed at him. That was hurtful."

"Someone else had already hurt him," Scorpius said matter-of-factly.

Rose twiddled her thumbs, guilt crossing her features, before finally sighing and leaning back on the sofa. The back of her head rested gently on his outstretched arm, but she didn't seem to notice. _Laissez-faire_ , Scorpius thought sardonically.

"Men are so difficult," she mumbled.

"Tsk. Women are just as difficult."

"Like me?"

"And my mother." That caught her attention. Rose turned her face to him, prompting Scorpius to lift the parchment from the book he had on his lap that was serving as a writing pad.

"She wants to know more about my new girlfriend," he drawled, "and I was just trying to explain to her that she isn't the hussy the media's portrayed her to be—"

"I can help." Rose shifted closer to him, looking more energised than the moment before. "What have you got so far?"

"My girlfriend likes Grindylows. Which isn't helping your case."

"True. But you can't mention Grindylows without also telling her I have a Pygmy Puff."

Scorpius snorted, glancing at her in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I do. Arnold the Third. My Aunt Ginny gave him to me when I was younger. He's pink, and very friendly. Would you like to meet him?"

"No," Scorpius said flatly, but began scribbling onto the parchment.

"Tell her I have great knowledge of creatures."

"I really don't think that will impress my father. He finds creatures of all kinds detestable. Hippogriffs, ferrets…"

"Well, you're besotted with a girl who loves them, so he'll have to deal with it," Rose said indignantly. "And I love Hippogriffs—Buckbeak is a family friend."

Scorpius sighed. "That's sure to win him over… What else?"

"You can tell them you're my first boyfriend ever."

Scorpius paused, looking back at Rose with unmasked surprise. Rose was leaning back on his arm again, her red hair spilling over his sleeve.

"But you've kissed," he said without thinking. The memory of her lips pressed on his had returned to him at full force… he was convinced her sensual confidence had to come from experience, no matter how limited.

"Boys always kiss me," she confirmed, her eyes closed as she recalled the years of ambush. There was a detached perplexity in her tone, as though she couldn't fathom the reason why.

"Didn't you like any of it?"

"Kissing? Well…" Rose slitted her eyes open to look at Scorpius. "I don't know. I've never really cared for it."

That confirmed his suspicions, at least. "So a kiss means nothing to you."

Rose shrugged. "It's just not very interesting, is it?"

Scorpius regarded her carefully, feeling rather taken aback at her indifference. Most people his age would have much to say about this topic, but Rose treated it with all the enthusiasm of an exam question. His eyes fell to the rosebud shape of her lips, so casually planted on his own back in Hogsmeade.

Perhaps if he kissed her again, she would change her mind. This time they would kiss as slowly as he wanted, exploring and probing… He would plunder her mouth, seek out her secrets, tease her with his tongue as she sighed against his mouth…

Maybe she wouldn't be indifferent to that sort of kiss.

Just the thought made the heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Scorpius recognised the signs; he used to live for that sort of passion, used to let it drive him mad with want. It was a divine torment, to long for someone you desired with your whole body—and desire had always come easy to Scorpius.

Hell. He was obviously more sexually deprived than he thought if he was fantasising about Rose while she was just beside him.

Scorpius dragged his gaze away from her mouth, forcing himself to focus on the letter at hand.

"I'm sure my parents will be delighted with this," he said, keeping his voice even. "Let me write it down— _Kissing is not very interesting to Rose…"_

Rose caught his wrist, the familiar twinkle returning to her eyes. It was the same humour he recognised from that late afternoon in Hogsmeade, just before she kissed him. Her knee rested warmly against his thigh as she shifted his wrist from his lap to her own.

"May I?" Rose said, with a gentle earnesty.

Scorpius wasn't sure what she meant, but she had placed his hand face up in hers, observing the lines and markings in the heart of his palm. She lowered her head, absently tracing the coarse surface with her fingertips, the feather lightness of her touch following the faint branches that led away from the trident lines ingrained in his skin. He had the impression she was studying him the way she probably would an odd creature, her ministrations careful and curious.

"I knew it," she murmured.

"What?" he asked tersely, feeling somewhat hot under the collar, and irritated to notice he was short on breath. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a girl, and the way Rose was doing it, so reverent and tender, brought an unwelcome warmth to his face.

"Your heart line. It's utterly straight." Rose glanced up at him with faint amusement.

"What does that mean?"

"That you're more than a little bit jealous."

Scorpius made a derisive sound, but for some reason made no move to pull his hand from hers. "Any person in Hogwarts can tell you that."

"Oh, but I made this assessment based on Lily's Palmistry textbook. Nothing to do with gossip." Rose held up her own palm. "Mine looks like mountain ridges."

"Does that mean you'll catch the heart of a Sasquatch?"

She was smiling now. "A girl can hope."

Without realising, Scorpius had relaxed into the sofa, her ease of manner chipping away the defensiveness he usually felt around girls. Her nearness stirred something primal within him, cracking through the numbness of feeling he had grown used to over the past year. Scorpius almost felt compelled to close the distance between them so he could take a closer look at her freckles, so generously scattered across her porcelain cheeks. As Rose thumbed lightly along his knuckles, diligently studying the rise of bones and veins under his skin, he suddenly understood why she was so sought after.

It was the utter lack of flirtation that made her curiosity look so delectably innocent.

And if this was the way Rose Weasley was with boys, it was no wonder she was always in a whole lot of trouble.

"No dates," he heard himself say, breaking the silence.

Rose looked up from his hand.

"No bloody love letters. No flowers. No silly gifts."

She recognised the terms. "Right."

"Then," Scorpius said bluntly, "what separates me from a bodyguard, pray tell?"

Rose gently let go of his hand as she considered the question. The loss of contact allowed Scorpius to exhale quietly, though he wasn't sure if it was out of relief… or disappointment. Her headphones were playing another track now, the muffled sounds of a piano concerto filling the stifled silence between them.

Then Rose returned his gaze, a decisive sureness reflected in her blue eyes.

"Well… I'll let you kiss me."


	4. The Myth

_Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews! Let me know what you think of this one :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Myth**

No girl should ever utter words like that.

And, coming from someone like Rose, it sounded even more scandalous than usual.

At present, the girl in question was seated across the hall at the Gryffindor Table, engaged in a casual game of Wizard's Chess with her floofy-headed brother, Hugo. It was curious that she even bothered. Everyone knew Hugo was prodigious at the game, and was unbeatable on a national level.

Scorpius set down his fork, lowering his resentful gaze to his untouched dinner as the events from a few evenings ago returned to him.

After Rose had said the words, Scorpius had, for the first time since Georgia Plumes, been left speechless by a girl. It was incomprehensible to him, how she had merely smiled in that infuriatingly casual manner of hers… before donning her headphones and traipsing off.

Scorpius had remained stock still in his seat, his mind reeling as he let her nonsensical proposal sink in. On one hand, Albus was going to have words with him if he even thought of taking Rose up on her offer. On the other hand…

He did want her. The admission, when it eventually surfaced, felt like a Bludger to the head. Despite the fact that she wasn't his type particularly, she was still a girl. And quite an attractive one at that. Scorpius had always been weak for girls, for their cloudish scents and graceful curves, for the way they yielded against and under him… nothing caught his imagination more than the swish of a skirt, or the supple skin of a pale thigh.

Bloody hell, girls. They appealed to the most primal of instincts within him, undid his control and made him stupid. Even now, the thought of kissing Rose made Scorpius' blood rush to all the wrong places.

Yet, if she didn't place any sort of significance to a kiss, then why on earth should he?

 _You know why,_ came the warning voice in the back of his head. And Scorpius closed his eyes, uttering a low groan.

His tryst with Georgia Plumes had begun in almost the same way—as a meaningless physical affair, until she had, unwittingly, drawn out the worst of his passions. Before Georgia, Scorpius never thought he was capable of that kind of possessiveness. Perhaps, he thought bleakly, it was a mixture of their intense sexual chemistry and her lack of interest in him that had captured him completely. He had always wanted her more, and that alone was enough to catapult his feelings for her into a full-blown obsession.

Though, of course, it was just as likely that he would never feel a thing for Rose Weasley. The girl was taking what she needed from him without hesitation or apology.

Surely he deserved to be equally compensated for her ridiculous scheme.

Well, this was a bloody headache.

"You know what they say… There are two types of girls in this world."

Without hurry, Scorpius opened his eyes in narrow slits. Tarquin had arrived for dinner, wearing an irritating all-knowing expression as he sat himself down across from him. As though sensing Scorpius' vexation, Tarquin grinned, leaning forward in his chair.

"The kind you mess around with," he continued covertly, as though divulging a secret, "And the kind you marry."

"What's your point?" Scorpius said flatly, reflexively glancing back at Rose and Hugo.

"I can already tell," Tarquin continued, a disconcerting glee sneaking into his startling hazel-green eyes. "She's not even half as pretty as Plumes, but you're going to be doubly besotted. Men are always done in by the wholesome ones."

"Since you're the expert," Scorpius said, in an unnaturally calm tone, "then surely you can explain why I waited all these years to declare my love for one of my best friends' cousins."

Tarquin looked at Scorpius in half-disbelief. "Because you've always preferred the girls you can mess with, Scorpius. Especially those in very short skirts, may I add. Rose is sweet, but who's going to mess with her?"

Scorpius gave Tarquin a pointed stare. "Albus would kill them."

"Exactly." Tarquin glanced furtively around him, as though to make sure no one would overhear, then—"So. Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"You know what I mean. Have you kissed her?"

Scorpius scowled at his friend, who was now overcome with laughter.

"Come on, that's the least of what you've thought about, surely. _I've_ thought about her—"

Hell, Rose wasn't even an actual girlfriend, but Scorpius found himself struggling to keep his temper in check. Tarquin must have recognised something dangerous in Scorpius' expression, because he seemed to get the message, bringing their conversation to a close with a sheepish grin. At times like this, it was stupefying to realise that most people considered Tarquin to be the decent one between the pair of them. Of course, Tarquin could effortlessly display the most refined of manners at a snap of his fingers—proof of his impeccable pureblooded upbringing—yet, he often concealed his motives with charm and wit, and seemed incapable of complete honesty with himself or others.

If there was anything Scorpius couldn't tolerate, it was any sort of deceit—a quality that happened to define Tarquin's modus operandi. He was like a brother to Scorpius, but if they hadn't known each other since their diaper days, Scorpius wasn't sure they would be friends.

"Pointless chess contest, though," Tarquin said casually, as he followed Scorpius' gaze over his shoulder. "What do they call Hugo Weasley… The Pride of England, or something like that?"

Hugo looked up from his chess board then, the mild boredom in his blue eyes momentarily blinked away when he spotted Scorpius and Tarquin watching them.

Tarquin smiled at him. Hugo reddened and upset a few of his chess pieces.

Albus swept into the Great Hall just then, resembling something like a provoked hurricane. His wild black hair stuck out more than usual, and neither Scorpius or Tarquin missed the tension in his jawline or the heated flush of his cheeks. Albus dropped his Quidditch gloves and broomstick unceremoniously on the bench as he sat down, a manic glint in his bright green eyes as he began to fill his plate with food.

Several moments passed in silence as he stuffed himself, before Scorpius elbowed him none too kindly at the side.

Albus choked on his mouthfuls, giving his friends a puzzled stare as he coughed into his fist.

"Whot," he uttered, his mouth still full of chicken drumstick.

"What the hell happened to you?" Scorpius said bluntly.

Albus swallowed, impatiently wiping his mouth with a napkin. He looked reluctant to discuss the issue, whatever it was, even though it was apparent he was more than affected by it. When Scorpius and Tarquin continued to stare expectantly at him, Albus rolled his eyes and relented. "I think I saw her."

"Who?"

"The Siren of the Great Lake." Albus returned Tarquin and Scorpius' bemused expressions. "I just knew you'd react this way—look, it sounds mad even to me. Roxanne was just telling me about it the other day, about this bloody Mergirl that turns up on the bank on warmer nights. Sometimes there are two of them, but tonight I happened to see one while I was in the air."

"Maybe someone was skinny-dipping," Tarquin suggested coyly. "It wouldn't be the first time it happened."

"No—I'm pretty sure I saw a tail, glittering green and gold…" Albus seemed transfixed by the memory. "She was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"If it's a Merperson, Albus," Scorpius said wryly, rather disturbed by Albus' dreamy expression, "you should ask Rose about it. She may know something you don't."

"What do I know that you don't?" came Rose's voice.

The boys raised their heads to see Rose approaching the table. She flashed Scorpius a brief smile before glancing back at Albus' awestruck expression.

"Albus thinks he saw the Siren of the Great Lake," Tarquin said helpfully. "Please kindly educate him before he falls in love with a bloody shark."

Rose's lips parted, her breezy demeanor giving way to the knot between her eyebrows. She seemed aghast a moment, then—"Wait, the _what_ of the Great Lake?"

"The Siren." Scorpius watched her intently, intrigued by the minute changes in Rose's countenance. Rose seemed almost… taken aback by the topic, as though they were talking openly about a supposedly secret matter. "Your cousin Roxanne told Albus about it."

"The myth's been spreading," Albus explained, reaching for another drumstick. "Roxy told me she's spotted one lying on the bank before. I didn't believe her until it happened to me—"

"Everyone knows Merpeople don't thrive in shallow depths," Rose interrupted. "The nearer they get to the surface, the more likely they are to suffocate. And, most damning of all to your account, Albus… Merpeople are hideous."

"They are not," Albus said stubbornly. "How do you explain the lovely creature I saw just half an hour ago?"

"They're scaly, grey-skinned beings with thick, gilly necks—"

" _Rose_ , I'm telling you—"

"I don't know what you saw," Rose said decisively, "but it wasn't a Siren… or any sort of Merperson. It was probably a skinny dipper."

"That's my theory," Tarquin agreed, as Albus frowned in protest.

"I'm going to the Owlery," Rose continued brightly, turning her gaze back to Scorpius. "Won't you come with me, Scorpius?"

Her open invitation was sufficient enough to distract Albus from the topic of the Siren, and he narrowed his eyes as Scorpius got to his feet to follow her.

"Don't get too friendly, ay," he called, as Tarquin hid a smile behind his goblet.

* * *

It was a relief to finally get away from the warmth and bustle of the Great Hall. Outside, the hallways were empty of people, the evening crisp and quiet—perfect conditions for mischief-making or the random rendezvous. Wordlessly, Scorpius had fallen into step beside Rose, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes.

As the sounds of dinnertime faded behind them, replaced by the tap of their shoes and the swish of their cloaks, Rose stole a look at Scorpius. There were hints of a long day in his usually impeccable appearance—his blond hair was rumpled, strands falling over his forehead, and his tie had been carelessly loosened at his unbuttoned collar. He retained a certain elegance about him, but Rose was surprised to find the little imperfections oddly charming on him.

"What's this about?" Scorpius said at length. "Do you really have a letter to send?"

Rose wondered, not for the first time, if Scorpius could ever accept anything at face value. She assumed a straight face. "Why else would I go to the Owlery?"

His tone was sceptical. "You really need my company just to post a letter?"

"You didn't have to come with me."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "And listen to Al drone on about an imaginary Mermaid?"

"Good point," Rose conceded, grinning up at him. "Although with me you may end up hearing about Murtlaps instead… anyway. I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Bad news."

Rose removed her headphones from her collar, hanging them on the strap of her bookbag. "Well, I was playing Gobstones with Blaine Warrington today… and she asked me if we've broken up."

At this, Scorpius arched an elegant eyebrow. "Why?"

"No idea. Maybe because we haven't been seen talking for the last three days." Rose had been amused at Blaine's undisguised interest in her relationship with Scorpius, but she didn't hold it against the girl—she had long accepted that her life would always be a source of entertainment for others. "Time flies for those who gossip, you know. But I suppose we can correct their impression with walks like this one."

They arrived at the foot of West Tower, following the spiralling stairs upward to the Owlery. "And the good news?"

Rose brightened considerably, reaching into her bookbag to retrieve her roll of The Daily Prophet. She straightened out the pages, flipping to the social section before passing it to Scorpius.

Scorpius gave the social page a onceover as they passed one of the tower's windows. " _James Potter seen leaving model Hertha Rowle's London apartment_ ," he read, before looking back at Rose, who could barely contain her glee. "Why is this good news?"

"Because for once, it isn't about me. Or you, for that matter." Her laughter echoed across the walls as they stepped into a circular stone room, setting off a series of hoots from the owls nestled in the perches around them. "Oh, they haven't reported on us since that headline a week ago—how brilliant is that? I'm usually mentioned in some unflattering way every other day…" She paused. "Although it's about time James got into trouble. He deserves it."

Scorpius stopped by a patch of moonlight to peruse the article, glancing inquisitively at Rose. "And here I was, thinking you don't have a mean bone in you."

Rose made a face but said nothing more, instead turning away from Scorpius to face the wall of cooing owls. It was, in her mind, pointless to discuss James Potter. Her cousin had always been remarkably self-centred, and had gotten even more so after graduation. It disturbed Rose that girls seemed to find his selfishness attractive… even Poppy, for all her cleverness, had not been immune to his charms, whatever they were.

If there was something Rose couldn't wrap her head around, it was the way certain boys treated girls. As though they were meant to be used, and then disposed of. Perhaps, Rose reflected with a frown, this was another reason relationships could never be appealing to her.

A dragon had more integrity than some men.

"There's nothing worse than a skirt-chaser," Rose thought aloud, distracted by her train of thought as she summoned her owl, Francis. The spotted owl fluttered onto the perch beside her, nipping impatiently at her finger and demanding a treat.

If Scorpius was surprised by her outburst, he didn't show it. "There's nothing wrong with appreciating a woman."

"So you think it's okay to play around with someone's feelings?"

"I never said that." She could hear his footsteps crunch into the straw on the ground as he approached. Rose sensed that her words had rankled him, somehow. "…Although, of course, you will agree with me that it's possible to be physical with someone without ever falling in love with them."

"Like Georgia Plumes," Rose said absently, as Francis nuzzled the back of her hand.

"Exactly." His voice was dangerously soft, and closer than she expected it to be. Without warning, he had lowered his head over her shoulder, the length of his body barely a breath away from her back. Rose felt her breath hitch at his sudden closeness, for a moment forgetting the letter in her hand. Francis hooted suspiciously, surveying them with globular, golden eyes.

His hand was moving down the length of her arm, coming to rest over the back of her own. He wasn't touching her… not quite.

Then, his fingers curled over hers, seizing the letter gently between the digits.

"Scorpius," she uttered at last, unsure of how to react. It felt like an ambush… except it wasn't. Ambushes, as Rose knew them, were abrupt and quick.

In contrast, there seemed something terribly deliberate about what Scorpius was doing.

"Who's this for?" he said softly, his breath warm against her ear.

"Fabian Fawley." The name slipped out before Rose could notice; she was too distracted by the feathery brush of his cheek against her temple.

"He was on our Quidditch team before he graduated. Why are you writing him?"

"He wrote me first, actually." Rose turned abruptly to face him, determined to put some distance between them. "He's in the magizoologist programme that I'm interested in, so…"

There was a mirthless tug in the corner of his lips. "So you two have been bonding over magical creatures."

"I wouldn't call it that."

"Then what do you call it?"

She met his eyes, a defensive reply ready on her tongue… but the words failed her at the pale intensity of his gaze. Not that it mattered; Scorpius wasn't waiting for an answer. Something seemed to click within him then, revealed only by the trace of resigned curiosity in his eyes... Then his hand had come up to cup the side of her head, his forefinger tracing down her jawline before his thumb came to rest in the dip of her chin. The whole moment felt strangely surreal to Rose. It would have been unfathomable to her just a week ago, that she would be standing in a moonlit Owlery with her boyfriend.

And he wouldn't stop touching her.

He shifted closer then, the muted heat of his body filling the arches of space between them. Rose felt the letter crumple under her grip… Yet Scorpius refused to let up, his fingers now running leisurely into the feathery nape of her neck, nestling within the strands of her red hair, taking his time as he explored her... Rose could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin even as he drew her to him, his head angling towards hers ever so slightly.

"Pygmy, Doxy, Imp, and Sprite," she whispered, a sudden panic filling her chest.

A slow, knowing smile curved into Scorpius' lips.

"Fwooper, Serpent, Cockatrice…"

"Nervous?" he murmured.

"Very."

"So you recite the names of beasts every time a boy tries to kiss you?"

"No," Rose said, frozen still despite a telling redness rising up her cheeks. Something about Scorpius' closeness was making her warm under the collar, and it was unsettling her. "Only with you."

"Why's that?" he asked, a gentle thumb running down the column on her throat.

"Because none of them ever take so long to kiss me." Rose squeezed her eyes shut. "If you're going to do it, I'd prefer if you make it quick."

"Why? I prefer to take my time."

He was teasing her, and it was unbearable. Rose couldn't identify with this situation, couldn't remember ever flirting with anyone or being this affected by their presence. In face of Scorpius' obvious sensuality, she felt overwhelmed by a frightening awareness of what she was in her own skin... a young woman, standing before a very attractive man.

She had always been approached by boys who clamoured for her, each one begging for her attention with brief, desperate kisses.

Scorpius Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed absolutely sure of his effect on her. And here she was, completely mesmerised... It was absurd, and utterly unlike her. Rose shook her head, as though to shake off the spell.

Then, as suddenly as he started it, he stepped away from her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but he looked rather short on breath himself. Rose inhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down as the crisp air reached her expired lungs.

"I'm not going to kiss you," Scorpius said at last, his gaze intent on hers. "Unless you want me to."

"I already said I'd let you."

"It's not the same thing."

Rose let out a shallow laugh, and suddenly she felt unable to meet his eyes. All she wanted was to put some distance between them, to forget this strange night ever happened. And, most of all, she longed to return to the safety of being her studious, oblivious self... the one who preferred Gnomes to boys.

Behind her, Francis cooed in confusion.

"Thanks for walking me here," Rose said lightly, trying to sound as though nothing had occurred between them at all. "I can make it back to the common room myself."

She hurried out of the Owlery before he could reply, her steps sounding urgently against the walls as she hightailed down the tower. It was only when she arrived at the Gryffindor common room that she realised she had forgotten to mail out the letter to Fabian Fawley.


	5. The Game

_The reviews have been so incredibly detailed and kind—thank you for the Faves/Follows, as well! The plot is thickening, bit by bit… Do leave a note if you enjoyed this chapter :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Game**

Scorpius waited, half cloaked in darkness, until the sound of Rose's light footsteps faded away.

He didn't realise he'd been holding his breath. He allowed himself to exhale softly then. The heat on his skin prickled against the stinging chill of the owlery.

The owls seemed to sense the skitter in his chest, meeting its rhythm with insolent hoots. He glanced upward at Rose's owl, and the creature met his gaze with an unblinking arrogance. As though it could see through his very skin, read his intentions through its molten amber eyes.

"You should be worried," he murmured.

The owl cocked its head.

He returned its stare with a quirk of his lips.

He needed a moment; he felt quite light-headed. The initimate encounter with Rose had left Scorpius rather euphoric… the hum of his blood chasing the erratic beat of his heart.

Blast. All he merely wanted was to test the waters. See how she reacted to his advances, if she could truly remain unaffected by him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but surely Rose was moved, ever so slightly, by his closeness.

Scorpius had known his way around the fairer sex for a long time. And he could always, _always_ tell when a girl reacted to him.

No, he decided. He didn't imagine it.

This was the problem with him. Girls undid him so easily, because he was obsessed with the chase. He could never resist a game of catch. And Scorpius always played to win. It was this exact quality that made him an excellent Seeker.

Rose Weasley. It was beginning to puzzle him how he'd never quite noticed her before… the girl who could hide nothing from her little freckled face. Who would sooner sprout the names of beasts than whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

Merlin, she was ridiculous. That too-red hair and swimming cornflower blue eyes. How could a girl be so clueless and yet so tempting? Scorpius had never once looked at a girl with a skirt that reached her knees. They weren't his sort. Too sweet, too much trouble. They always wanted more.

But Rose didn't want more. No matter how attracted she was to him, that much was fact. He wasn't sure what it was that emanated from her. She had seemed a shade terrified, looking somewhat like she was standing in the path of an impending Bludger that was hell-bent on taking her face off.

Him being the Bludger, obviously.

Was this how she was, when boys tried to kiss her? Stiff as a board, anxious as anything. No wonder kisses meant nothing to her. And yet she had declared, so earnestly—

 _I'll let you kiss me._

It was wrong, he knew. But a pleasant shudder was running up his chest at the thought of those words. All that sweet bravado. His hand came up to his mouth, a chuckle rising in his throat.

 _Why_ the devil was he laughing?

Her face when he'd leaned in. Bloody hell.

It was obvious. She couldn't stand to be teased. Had no idea how to handle it.

No clue how to handle _him._

 _All the better._

Idly, he wondered how she would look like in a shorter skirt.

Rather fetching, he supposed, examining the mental picture with more interest than Albus would have allowed.

Oh, he was going to have fun with this one. Bugger the fact that she wasn't his type. It was an odd thing, this. Thinking of a girl and being quite unable to control the warm amusement filling his chest. Simply being with her awoke a primal thrill in him. Lighting up his insides, drawing life in the parts of him that laid dormant for a long time.

Scorpius headed out of the tower and through the hallways, his thoughts cloudish as he made for the Slytherin dungeons. He only paused when one of the stone doors ahead of him creaked open. A silver of light cut into his path.

Poppy Langdon appeared.

Scorpius stood still, thoughts of Rose diminishing as they came face-to-face in the dim hallway. Then, courteously, she nodded to him.

"Malfoy."

"Langdon," he returned.

Albus had always described Langdon in the most unflattering terms. _Boring, stiff, straight-laced Poppy Langdon,_ he liked to say scornfully, _who thinks she's above the rest of us mortals_. And that was true, for most part. Poppy often wore her light hair in a tight bun, her attire impeccable. She had all the individual features of a girl who should have been classically pretty. The fine, angel-spun hair. Light blue eyes. A prim little mouth. And yet her features, when combined, were hardly distinctive on her. She was somewhat forgettable by Scorpius' standards.

Unlike Rose, he found himself thinking. Whose pretty, lush lips were about to haunt him for nights to come.

Many thought Poppy to be an odd choice of friend for Rose. They were polar opposities. Where Rose was expressive, Poppy was restrained. Even so… there was something different about her tonight. Her hair was soft and loose on her small shoulders. Her robes were slightly askew, as though she had hurried to put them on.

She looked… vulnerable, somehow. More human. And less like the stoic straight-A student the school knew her to be.

Perhaps Albus would have less to say if Langdon looked like this more often.

"You should hurry back," Poppy said, as though it was completely normal for a Head Girl to step out of the Potions Professor's chambers at this time of the night. "It's almost curfew."

"I could say the same for you."

Poppy's eyebrows knotted, ever so slightly. Scorpius didn't know her very well, but she came across as the kind of girl whose expressions rarely gave in to emotion.

"I had to discuss something with Professor Crossley," she said lightly.

"I see," he drawled. "What about?"

"It's not for you to know, is it." Poppy flashed him a polite smile. "You may be Rosie's boyfriend now, but we're hardly friends."

She turned to leave, and that should have been the end of it.

"Wait," Scorpius heard himself say. He couldn't resist the question, sitting at the tip of his tongue since Rose left him at the owlery. "What's Fabian Fawley to Rose?"

Poppy glanced over her shoulder.

"It's rather complicated," she said. "Maybe you should ask her."

"Why is she writing him?"

"Because he has information that we need for our… Grindylow research."

"What's the complicated part?"

"If you're so interested," Poppy said coolly, "you should talk to her instead of me, don't you think?"

Scorpius shot her a mocking smile. "Does she know what you're doing with Professor Crossley?"

The subject seemed to rankle at Poppy. This time, she didn't deign to reply, merely turning on her heel and walking away.

Albus was right about Langdon, Scorpius thought sardonically.

There certainly wasn't much to like about her.

* * *

Rose found herself mercilessly occupied the rest of the week. Homework was piling up now, getting in the way of her personal hobbies once more. Of late, she had barely found time to go on her secret walks in the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid had always cautioned her, of course, of the dangers of these mini-expeditions. But Rose hadn't been able to resist the thought of glimpsing odd beasts in the process. In her walks, she had observed from afar the movements of the Acromantula colony, the migration of Aethonan winged horses, and the amusing lives of many a Bowtruckle.

The wilderness was delightful. Since a child, she had considered it her natural habitat.

Within the black and green canopy of towering trees, social politics ceased to exist.

Heaven, really.

Quidditch season was once again in full swing, which meant Scorpius spent most of his time training on the pitch after classes. She had glimpsed him once or twice, effortlessly gliding through the air on his broomstick, screaming instructions to the other players. There was no doubt that Scorpius was influential on the team, even though it was Albus who made Captain. It was plain, to her at least, that he planned to make a career out of the sport.

Busy as they were, they remained on surprisingly friendly terms. She said hello whenever they saw each other, making an effort to speak to him in front of people. It seemed to work. Boys now nipped less at her heels, giving her a freedom that she reveled in.

So it was all going according to plan. Strangely enough. Rose had expected Scorpius to make the whole thing just a little difficult for her. She had been wholly prepared to counter his arguments, to win him over with a list of benefits. But so far, Scorpius hadn't bothered to rock the boat.

In fact, he hadn't been alone with her since the night at the owlery.

Rose blinked at the memory. He wasn't mad at her, was he?

Surely not. It would be petty.

Even though she wasn't sure why he'd be mad at her for anything.

Crikey. Even now, thinking of his closeness sent her cheeks mildly aflame. Not that the encounter changed her opinion of him. After all, this was what was expected of Scorpius Malfoy, whom every girl seemed to take a guilty fancy to. He was a rake. A playboy of sorts. The gossip columns had always maintained the narrative, so it wasn't like she wasn't warned.

Hell, Blaine Warrington had told her as much over their many games of Gobstones.

 _A panty-dropper_ , she had called him, much to Rose's amusement.

No. The night at the owlery had only shaken her opinion of herself.

Until he had touched her, Rose had not truly understood what it meant to be intimate. Boys kissed her, yes. And then they let her go. In her mind, it was simply how kisses worked. And that was as far as she allowed it to go.

But with Scorpius, she had an inkling this version of events would not be enough to satisfy him. He was… different, in that he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He carried the air of a man whose desire would not wane with just a chaste meeting of lips. Which, she reasoned, was exactly why he dated Georgia Plumes. Plumes, despite her carefree disposition, was all woman—flowing, silky black tresses, framing a pretty face that was accentuated with a hint of makeup. She was carefully put together, sensuality and refinement in a lovely, long-legged package.

And she matched Scorpius physically, in every way that Rose didn't… or even desire to.

But here he was, stuck with her, whether he liked it or not. For the first time since she hatched the plan, Rose had no clue what this could possibly mean. Or what it was, exactly, that he wanted from her.

 _If not a kiss, then what?_

How befuddling. Perhaps she should have chosen someone else. Someone predictable. And yet, she could think of no one who could intimidate the rest of the school as Scorpius did.

What she did was selfish, yes. But Rose was glad every single day that she'd chosen him.

Guilty as it made her, it _was_ nice to sit in the common room and daydream in front of the fire without the threat of an ambush hanging over her head.

She wondered if he still thought of Georgia Plumes. Whether he was still mad enough to cast a killing curse in her direction. He had, after all, loved her enough to attempt the Unforgiveable.

Love, she mused, is a dangerous thing indeed.

She was jolted out of her thoughts as someone fell unceremoniously into the seat beside her, deftly pulling off her headphones. Strands of music filled the air. "Tchaikovsky?" came Hugo's voice. "Seriously?"

Rose shifted in her seat as Hugo made himself comfortable on the couch. "And what's wrong with Tchaikovsky?"

"Dunno. What's wrong with The Vexed Fairies?"

Rose made a face at the mention of Hugo's favourite indie band. "You know I prefer music without the distraction of badly written lyrics—"

"Nothing sounds purer than the strings. I know, I know." Hugo rolled his eyes good-naturedly, leaning heavily against his sister. "By Dumbledore. Are you _really_ studying? How… unlike you."

"I do want to pass the NEWTs, mind you." Rose looked glumly at her stack of essays. "Magizoology does require a few credits. Besides, can you imagine if I flunked the NEWTs? The papers would have a field day. Mum would never live it down."

"Dad and Uncle Harry would take your side," Hugo said slyly. " _They_ never returned to school for the NEWTs."

"It's different for us, Hugo. You know everyone holds us to impossible standards." She hesitated. "I don't want to let mum down."

"You're incapable of that, I assure you. She loves you more than anything. Quite possibly more than she loves me."

"How can she possibly love her scandal-ridden daughter more than her chess champion of a baby boy?" Rose laughed as Hugo scowled, a red lock of hair falling in his eyes. "You're the perfect son, Hugo. Of course you're her favourite."

"I won't be her favourite once she knows I've got a boyfriend."

Rose blinked at her brother. Hugo burst out laughing at her owlish expression. "Dear Merlin, your face. For a moment you looked just like dad—"

"A _boyfriend_ , Hugo? Since when?" Hugo had always been open about his attraction to both genders, but he had only ever gone public with girls. "And more importantly—who?"

Hugo leaned back on couch, casting a cursory glance across the almost-empty common room. He considered his words carefully, tapping his slender fingers on his thigh in an impatient rhythm.

"I been hooking up with Kirk Vance," he said casually. "Since last month."

"Kirkpatrick Vance?" Rose could hardly wrap her head around the idea of the boisterous Hufflepuff Beater getting it on with Hugo. He was a sixth-year, stocky and broad, and undoubtedly pleasing on the eye. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes wide in wonder as she absorbed this bit of information. "…Bloody hell. I was pretty sure he liked girls."

"That's what they all say." Hugo shot Rose a smug smile. "Then they meet me."

Rose snorted, amused at his arrogance. "Well—does he like you, then?"

"I know so. Men can never hide their attraction to someone, I can tell you that much." He tried not to smile when Rose's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Surely you felt that with Scorpius?"

"Felt what with Scorpius?"

"Sparks. Heat. Tension. The sort you can cut through with a knife. Hanging heavy in the air, like an anchor on your chest… Can't breathe, can't move. Both of you, just standing there and quivering. Like a leaf. _Until_ —"

"Oh, don't keep me in suspense, now."

"Until the kiss. _Oh._ The kiss. And the weight lifts." Hugo's eyes were dancing now, his shoulders moving to a rhythm only he could hear. " _Voila._ Bliss."

Rose tried to suppress her grin at Hugo's attempt at poetry. "It sounds utterly unbearable."

"It is. Love is the most _wonderfully_ unbearable thing. Any day now, he's going break up with his girlfriend, and—"

"He has a girlfriend? Oh, Hugo."

Hugo returned her gaze, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. "You don't... you don't think he's lying about it, do you?"

"Well, I…" Rose took his arm, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You never know with these things." She paused, trying to find the right words. "James said the same to Poppy, and he didn't—"

"Kirk isn't James," Hugo cut in, suddenly irritable. "You don't even know him, Rosie."

Rose winced. "Of course. I just—you know what I meant."

A silence fell between them. Rose swallowed, feeling sorry. And yet, not quite able to shake off the feeling that Hugo was in for a crushing disappointment. When it came to any sort of equality rights, the wizarding world had more strides to make than their muggle counterpart—especially the conservative, pureblooded lot.

Vance's lot.

Vance may dally with the boys, but she couldn't see him coming out and declaring his affections for her darling brother.

It would be scandal.

"Come for a walk with me," she said impulsively, getting to her feet. "It's good weather today."

"It's bloody freezing out there, Rosie."

"Perfect, then. Bring your scarf."

"I'm bringing nothing." Hugo's earlier cheer was clearly doused. "I'll just stay here and sulk, if you don't mind."

"Hugo…"

Hugo smiled up at her, the familiar warmth returning to his chocolate-hued eyes. "I'm not mad, I promise. I know you're just looking out for me. You go find a creature. Or something." He considered it for a moment. "…Hopefully or something."

* * *

The air was crisp and cold, a light fog wrapping the grounds like an icy blanket. Grey skies lumbered overhead, low and threatening. Rose inhaled, finding her peace with the sprawling land and sky.

The Forbidden Forest loomed ahead. Rose made sure never to wander too deeply into the woods, though once or twice she had done so for special reasons. The winged horses had been so very worth it.

She reached the edge of the forest, her fingers skimming past the rough bark of century-old trees, with trunks so thick they could form the circumference of a dining table wide enough to host every Weasley and Potter. Rose smiled absently at the thought of her boisterous family.

Her gaze wandered towards the Great Lake in the distance. _A Siren_ , Albus has insisted. Rose studied the glacial calm of the lake surface, broken only by the occasional tentacle of the Giant Squid. How odd that her cousins insisted on the myth. Rose had studied Merpeople and Grindylows for years. The more she considered Albus and Roxanne's stories, the more ridiculous they sounded to her.

 _Disney got it all wrong_ , Rose thought wryly. Merpeople didn't breathe above water. Nor did they have the inclination to explore the world above them. Merpeople were prideful creatures… Curious as they were, they would never choose death in a realm beyond theirs. They were fiercely territorial.

Unless, of course, what Albus and Roxanne saw wasn't a Merperson. But merely a witch that looked like one.

Rose made a soft sound at the theory. That sounded more likely.

Perhaps she would do well to investigate.

Rose was so deep in thought that the sudden crunch of dead leaves was enough to startle her. Her breath hitched, her senses suddenly on alert. A creature, perhaps? She should have been paying attention. Even at the edge of the forest, it wasn't safe for her concentration to drift.

She turned abruptly, expecting to catch sight of a Doxy or Ferret. A Jarvey, if she was so lucky—

"Is that a wand," came the low drawl of an all too familiar voice, "or are you just glad to see me?"


	6. The Grapevine

_Guys, thank you SO MUCH for the reviews. I've been so amazed by every one of them. Sorry for the long wait - there's a lot more to come with this story and I'm really trying to write more often. Do fav/follow/review if you enjoy this. It means a lot :) Thanks again for the encouraging words! **  
**_

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Grapevine**

"It's just you," Rose blurted, feeling both disappointed and relieved.

Scorpius merely raised a lazy eyebrow at her words. Obviously he wasn't often a recipient of either expression.

"I take it you _aren't_ glad to see me." He seemed rather unamused to be at the end of her wand.

Rose blinked and mumbled an _oh_.

Belatedly, she lowered her arm.

Scorpius stared back at her as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his Quidditch uniform. There was a windswept quality about him, in the high colour of his cheeks and the effortless tousle of his silver gold hair. There was a casual agility in the way he moved—an aristocrat to the bone. For the briefest of moments, Rose allowed the heat to creep into her face—the memory of him upclose flashed in her mind. Unwittingly, her gaze was drawn to his lips.

Oh, hell.

Rose forced herself to wonder about the fact that he still had his leather arm and knee guards on. How very odd. If she didn't know better, she would have thought him to have quit practice in some sort of haste.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here alone? Hoping to bump into a Hippogriff, perhaps?"

He looked… annoyed. Which he didn't have any right to, really. Rose cocked her head, suddenly reminded of the Manticores she spoke to Hedge about—the too-intelligent creature that wore the arrogance of a lion, yet was every bit as cunning as a snake. Was it ire that was flashing past his expression? Surely he didn't think he was entitled to any sort of explanation.

"You know me so well," Rose said cautiously, keeping her voice bright as she inched back away from him. "Are you skiving?"

His voice was sharp. "Skiving?"

"Quidditch, of course. Albus never ends practice before dinner."

"He would if he'd been the one to spot you on the edge of the Forbbiden Forest while doing the rounds on the pitch."

Oh. So she had been right, after all. Scorpius _was_ in a haste. Even if it was to give her some sort of lecture.

That explained why he forgot to remove his arm and knee guards.

"Well," Rose said at last. "What a good thing it is that he hasn't seen me, then."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes, as though he couldn't quite believe she was treating the matter so lightly. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? It's getting dark, and the forest is _forbidden_ —"

"I've done this for six years," Rose reminded him, stepping back once more. Her heel caught a sprawling root hidden away by dead leaves, causing her to stumble. Her back met the dense bark of a tree as she steadied herself. _Bugger_. "And mind you, I haven't yet died."

"You only die once." He was too close now. As close as he was that night at the Owlery. The memory alone was enough to send a warmth thrumming through her cheeks. He smelled of salt and warm earth… she could detect the dreamy notes of the expensive cologne he liked to wear. It was a strangely compelling combination. Or perhaps she was getting used to sharing her personal space with him. Either way, Rose found herself leaning forward ever so slightly, as though taking in the scent of him. She half-expected Scorpius to mock her for it, but he said nothing, merely inclining his head towards hers. _Well, then_ , Rose thought absently, the tip of her nose finding the fuzzy surface of his jumper.

"What are you doing now?" she heard him mutter. Despite the irritation in his tone, his lips felt a mere breath away from her hair.

For a lingering moment they stood like this, in this somewhat half-embrace. Then he lifted his hand, the backs of his fingers coming up to touch her cheek. Rose made a small noise and gave him a little shake of her head.

Scorpius froze. Rose's fingers curled gently over his arm guard.

"Don't move," she whispered. "You'll scare away the Bowtruckle."

"The what?"

"The Bowtruckle. There's one staring at us and giggling. Right now. Two o'clock."

The hardness in his eyes gave way to disbelief. He craned his neck.

"Not too fast, you'll startle—"

"Quiet."

Rose clamped her mouth shut. Sure enough, a slender, leaf-like creature no bigger than her palm peeked out at them from behind a branch, its dim eyes shiny and curious. When Scorpius turned back to Rose, she was beaming.

"Brilliant," she said.

A twig snapped. The Bowtruckle squeaked in alarm, and disappeared in a flash. Rose's eyes widened as Scorpius gripped her arms and pushed her against the rough bark.

"Who's there?" he snapped.

"It could be a creature," Rose said, trying to be helpful.

"Shut up." Scorpius tightened his hold on her, his grip becoming almost vice-like. "You're probably hoping for something dangerous, like a Manticore, or—"

"Wrong climate for a Manticore," Rose corrected, ducking her head at Scorpius' steel glare. "But of course, if we chance upon one, we could quite possibly make conversation with it."

Scorpius lifted an exasperated gaze to the clouds, as though in prayer. "Why couldn't you be more… more…"

"Normal?" Rose was smiling at him when he returned his gaze to her. "I wonder sometimes."

Another crunch of the leaves. This time, Rose was sure there was something—a creature, a person—

To Rose's astonishment, Scorpius' face had gone pale. It occurred to her that, despite his physical strength and the devil-may-care bravado, Scorpius Malfoy was still very much the pampered, well-to-do aristocrat. He was not made to deal with the more reckless aspects of nature, and that likely included creatures. That, and Rose was well-informed of Draco Malfoy's wretched encounter with Buckbeak countless years ago, so she couldn't imagine that Scorpius was brought up close to animals of any sort, magicless or not.

Briefly, she found herself impressed that he would have put aside his fears, however big or small they were, to make sure she was safe. The curl of his slender fingers against her arm now felt more desperate than protective.

Rose's heart softened at this. Quite suddenly, she felt compelled to bring him to safety. Bratty as he was.

She went on her tip-toes then, tugging a wide-eyed Scorpius down by the neck of his Quidditch jumper and almost knocking foreheads.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Shh," she mumbled, raising her wand under his arm. " _Specialis Revelio_."

There was a silence. Dead leaves sighed as a gentle breeze picked up, but otherwise—nothing. Rose smiled, pleased. "See?" Her voice was muffled into his shoulder. "No Hippogriffs."

Scorpius relaxed ever so slightly against her. Rose poked him gently, and he went still. Then, she pointed her wand out to the clearing once more, her voice ringing clear.

" _Homenum Revelis_."

This time, there was a gasp and a shriek. Scorpius sprung away from Rose, his movements so quick that for a moment everything looked a blur—then he had his wand out, his back towards Rose and blocking her from the strangers stumbling to their feet before them. Rose gasped, recognising the colours of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—

"Who are you," Scorpius barked, an icy fury in his darkened eyes, "and what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The two girls were trembling behind their scarves, clutching their skirts and staring at Scorpius and Rose with both fear and a sort of—reverence?

Rose stumbled forward, a hand on Scorpius' wrist. "They're harmless," she insisted, but Scorpius shrugged her off, his eyes never leaving the girls.

"Names," he snarled. "Speak!"

"Gw-Gwendolyn Wick," said one, her knees visibly quaking.

"Nora Mullen," said the other, looking frightened of Scorpius' wrath. "Oh, please, we were just—"

"—we're such huge fans," finished Wick tearfully. "We didn't mean to follow you—"

"But you two are so sweet together!" Mullen wailed.

"We wanted to just see what you're both like together, everyone's _so_ curious—"

They were talking over each other now, voices pitchy and breathless. Rose couldn't make head or tail of what they were saying, except—

"The whole school's talking about you—"

"—Of all the boys who loved you, Rose, you picked _him_!"

"What a fairytale!"

"Are you two in love? Please, don't break up!"

"She's better for you than Plumes—"

The mention of Georgia Plumes was probably the last straw. With a low growl, Scorpius turned on his heel and stalked off. Rose blinked, overwhelmed by the barrage of information coming from Wick and Mullen, before she came to her senses. She pocketed her wand and hurried after Scorpius.

But Wick and Mullen were far from finished. It was as though the dam had broken, and they were coming clean with all the fantasies and hopes they had kept carefully hidden, brandishing their apparent adoration for the _absolutely perfect_ relationship Rose and Scorpius shared, their little voices squeaking through the wintry air to the same ruinous effect of a deflating rubber duck.

"Scorpius," Rose said, stumbling after him down the grassy path.

"Take his hand!" cried Wick.

"Can anything be more romantic?" Mullen sighed.

Rose glanced over her shoulder incredulously. "You two have a terrible idea of romance."

"You've redeemed him, Rose," Wick said with earnest aplomb, quickening her steps to match Rose's pace. "Why, before this, none of us could ever picture Malfoy as any sort of—"

"Boyfriend material," filled in Mullen, nodding enthusiastically. "You know, what with that awful dating history—"

"But you've gone and made him accessible again. If someone like you can change him, then there's hope for every sort of rogue wizard, surely? What next? Tarquin Zabini honouring his engagement?"

Rose felt her jaw drop. She had no idea Zabini was even engaged. But before she could comment on that, Scorpius had spun abruptly to face them, his expression as piercing as silver knives.

The cat-like grace he usually carried himself with had utterly evaporated. His shoulders were drawn as taut as an archer's bow, as though he was about to spring an attack on the still-gushing girls. He looked positively deadly. If this was how Scorpius looked like in a rage, Rose thought, it was no wonder Wallace Bolt regretted his wickedness.

"You have ten seconds," he hissed, "to get out of my sight."

Wick and Mullen stopped short, quivering at the force of his glare. Wick stuffed a hand into her satchel, pulling out a postcard.

"Ten." Scorpius had clenched his jaw.

"We're part of the Harlequin Book Club," Wick whispered to Rose, pressing the card into her palm before Rose could react. "You could join us for our weekly meetings—"

"Nine."

"Where writers and artists come together to discuss and dissect the mysteries of modern romance," Mullen said seriously. "Please, Rose, join us—"

"Three."

"You said in ten," Wick protested.

"Well, I changed my mind. Unlucky for you, that's the only thing about me that's changed." Scorpius reached for his wand, and Wick and Mullen visibly flinched, terror flashing past their faces. " _Two._ "

And then the girls were pushing past Rose and Scorpius, running helter-skelter down the grassy incline towards the castle.

The silence that fell between them felt almost like a sigh of relief. Rose stared down at the card in her hand. _The Harlequin Book Club_ sang out at her in languid brush strokes, magicked songbirds and petals flitting through the letters. _Thursdays at 8pm, Astronomy Tower._

Scorpius snatched the card of out her hands, crumpling it in his palm.

"Hey!" Rose cried, but Scorpius had already tossed it onto the grass.

" _Dissecting_ modern romance," he sneered. "What a flattering way to describe a gossip session."

"Gossip isn't the only thing girls do when they get together," Rose said defensively.

"Enlighten me, then."

"We play Gobstones. Discuss politics. Talk about magical developments and discoveries in astronomy."

"So—horoscopes, then." There was a cheerful sarcasm in his voice now. "Would you like to do a reading on mine?"

"I'm not sure that's necessary, seeing as it'll come out about how awful and mean you are!" Rose snapped, feeling her composure fray slightly. "And that's _astrology_ , not astronomy. Do you have such a low opinion of girls that you would trample over anything that's remotely feminine?"

Scorpius stared down at her, the agitation fading ever so slightly from his pale grey eyes. Then he huffed, turning away from her. "I'm not here to argue with you."

"You're just… so… Merlin, Scorpius. They meant no harm. You didn't have to behave like an utter prat."

"Me, a prat? They were the ones spying on us, in case you haven't quite noticed!"

"They meant no _harm_ —"

"They never do." The bitter edge in his voice put a stopper to Rose's rising indignation. Scorpius had turned away from her, his gaze trained on some distant point beyond the grounds. As though he was fighting back some sort of memory. Rose paused, remembering at once the vindictive rumours that plagued Scorpius' career in Hogwarts. Not that his poor choices had helped matters, Rose reminded herself. But as she recalled the impossibly toxic media circus that had surrounded him back then, she found it in herself to empathise.

Though, of course, none of this excused his terrible behavior towards Wick and Mullen.

"I know you're a Scorpio," she said at last. Scorpius didn't reply; his expression still caught up in that faraway place. Rose cleared her throat. "Lily studies that stuff. She says it means you know how to hold a grudge, which isn't too inaccurate if you ask me."

Scorpius snorted, but that familiar arrogance had returned to his eyes. Oddly enough, the sight felt almost comforting to Rose. It was a relief to see him return to himself.

"And you're born in March," he said.

"How did you know?"

"Albus. He drives us all mad trying to come up with something for your birthday every year." Scorpius lifted his gaze to meet hers. "What does that make you?"

"Pisces. The one with the fish symbol."

"I guess that's supposed to mean something."

Rose couldn't help a cheeky grin. "That I'm wonderful and kind, of course."

Scorpius said nothing for a moment. Rose was beginning to wonder if she had lost him again when he said, "Does it mean you'll go to Hogsmeade with me?"

Well. That was completely unexpected. Scorpius was studying her from the corner of his eye. There was something inexplicable about this unsmiling, expressionless man… the callous swagger Rose had gotten accustomed to had somehow peeled away, leaving only Scorpius behind. Yet, he stared at her with the same intensity, questioning rather than challenging.

"Well," Rose said carefully. "I did say, no dates, no gifts, no—"

" _You_ said," Scorpius interrupted flatly. "I, on the other hand, never said I was low-maintenance."

Rose gawked at him. Around them, the grounds were darkening, sunset colours melting into the cooler hues of evening time. Scorpius resumed walking, and Rose followed, trying to make sense of him.

"Why would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" she blurted. "Isn't it already a hassle to keep up appearances with me throughout the week? You should enjoy your free weekend, spend it with your mates—"

"Trust me, there's nothing I'd rather be doing," Scorpius said drily. "But my father has finally written, only to inform me that a high-profile coupling such as ours won't be able to escape the interest of the paparazzi. So he very pointedly suggested that it would be wise of me to… how shall I put it… _behave_."

"Well, then," Rose said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, "why can't we behave separately?"

"And endure the _trouble in paradise_ storyline in the week after?" Scorpius asked, with barely concealed disdain. "It'll be charming, I'm sure."

Rose followed after him, feeling somewhat dazed. Yet, no matter how she attacked the subject… Draco Malfoy had a point. Scorpius returning to the dating scene was as much a news story as it was of Rose nabbing the affections of a supposed ex-nemesis of the Weasley family. Combined, however, the pair of them were the makings of a sensational cover story. Rose was surprised that she hadn't yet been contacted by a magazine for an exclusive.

"Only if we get an ice-cream cone at Madam Puddifoot's," she blurted. Scorpius slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder to give her a look of disbelief.

"We don't have to sit in there with the other couples," Rose continued, folding her arms defensively and trying to ignore the heat prickling at the back of her neck. "But she serves a mean sugared violet ice-cream cone and I'm getting it. Whether you like it or not."

"Sounds revolting," said Scorpius, but Rose was sure it was a smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

"It tastes absolutely divine," Rose corrected, pushing past him towards the castle. "You'll see."

She heard him laugh behind her, a low sound that placed a familiar shiver up her spine.

"Can't wait," he said.

* * *

"First Hogsmeade date this weekend, then?"

Rose tried not to groan into her coffee. Poppy couldn't hide her grin as she settled into the sofa beside her friend. Since Wick and Mullen's supposed 'sneak peek' of Rose and Scorpius' _desperately romantic rendezvous in the Forbidden Forest_ (their words), the Hogwarts grapevine had gone into a tailspin.

Then, _someone_ —possibly Tarquin to one of his many girlfriends—had let slip that Scorpius and Rose were soon going on their first date, and the news had gone through the school like a wild fire.

"It's just a date," Rose protested. "Couples go on dates! Why is this news?"

"Would you like to hear my version of events?" Poppy offered casually. " _He grabbed her by arm, brought her to his chest like a elfin knight, caressing her back like a star-crossed lover, before whispering with a tremble in his voice_ —"

"Why are you listening to gossip? I am the _source_ , Poppy. And none of that happened!"

"Not even the caressing?"

"No caressing!" Rose cried, her head dropping into her hands. "Most people have the privilege of privacy! What have I done in my past life to deserve this?"

"There, there," Poppy said in a soothing tone. "It can't be all bad." Even so, she looked like she was trying not to smile. "I must say, for a girl who's gotten herself a boyfriend, you still look very much like you've been ambushed. What's _really_ bothering you?"

Rose shrugged, looking down at the book on her lap. "Well… Fabian wrote."

"So I've heard."

"What?"

"Nothing," Poppy said smoothly. "What did he say?"

"He said the Magizoology programme would require NEWTs in more than just Care of Magical Creatures. An E in Potions, Herbology, and Charms..." Rose frowned, worrying her lower lip. "I'm going to end up filing papers in some stuffy office just because of my _awful_ Herbology score—"

"You know I'll help you. And isn't Albus first in Charms?"

"Don't remind me. He's been insufferable about it."

"Insufferable or not, you should ask him for help. And you can begin redeeming your Herbology grade by not dozing off in Professor Longbottom's class. I'm sure he saw you. He was just too polite to say anything."

"Oh, bugger," Rose muttered, ducking her head in embarrassment. "Should I apologise?"

"He'll probably like it better if you managed at least an E on that Bleeding Tooth plant essay."

Rose made a face, glancing longingly out the window. It was a clear day with a bit of rare sun, but she and Poppy had made a pact at the beginning of term to spend their afternoons on their studies. While Hermione was naturally book smart, Rose's good grades were merely the result of applying herself.

Which definitely meant she had to pull up her socks.

Rose sighed inwardly. She would much rather be visiting the Hippogriffs.

"At least we both know you'll be brilliant," she said, feeling rather deflated. "I could talk to mum, you know. About getting you an internship at the policy department. You'd be perfect for that."

Surprise flickered past Poppy's pale eyes. "I'm grateful," she said. "But I'm not sure it's necessary."

"You're not looking for a job at the Ministry?"

"I'm not against the idea, but it's unlikely. I'd sooner work in an apothecary."

That surprised Rose. Poppy's exemplary school career seemed engineered towards a role in the Ministry. But before she could bring this up, Poppy had set down the newspaper and changed the subject.

"By the way... I was waiting for the right time to tell you. You'll never guess what I stumbled upon on patrol last night."

Rose raised an eyebrow. Her friend was not prone to gossip, which only meant it involved Rose's family.

"Albus," she said with certainty. It had been awhile since Albus gotten up to any mischief that involved a prank or a girl.

But Poppy shook her head.

"It was Hugo," she said, with a lowered tone.

"Hugo?" There was a sinking sensation in Rose's stomach.

"With Kirkpatrick Vance." Poppy tilted her head at Rose's blank expression. "Well, bugger me. You knew, didn't you?"

"I knew about Vance," Rose admitted slowly. "But it worries me that you do, too. No offense," she said quickly. "But you know as well as I do that he's never let himself get caught with a boy. If word gets out, the press will start circling him like vultures."

"You're the only one I've told." Poppy hesitated for a moment. "You probably should talk to Zabini, though."

" _Zabini_?"

"He was there, too."

" _What?_ With Hugo and Vance?"

"Jesus, no." The mugglespeak drew a chuckle out of Rose. "He happened to be on his way back to the common room, and we both chanced upon Hugo and Vance—"

"What was he doing out so late?"

"God knows he was probably doing the same thing with some other girl," Poppy said wryly. "He was a gentleman about the whole thing, of course. Slipped away before Hugo even noticed he was with me." She hummed thoughtfully under her breath. "Can he be trusted?"

It disturbed Rose that she couldn't come up with a straight answer. Despite Albus' closeness to Zabini, she probably knew him just as well as she knew Scorpius, really. Which was to say, not at all.

The sudden thought of Scorpius did an unexpectedly funny little thing to her insides.

Rose blinked away the feeling, returning her attention to the matter at hand.

Someone like Zabini was a wildcard when it came to information like this. Especially since pureblooded families were considered to be staunchly traditional in every possible sense of the word.

To Poppy, she merely said, "I have no idea."

"You should ask Scorpius about it."

"Maybe," Rose agreed, a little too quickly.

Poppy studied Rose carefully, the slightest hint of amusement reaching her eyes. "Rosie. Did something happen between the two of you?"

Rose could barely conceal her discomfort at this turn of the conversation. She was not accustomed to talking about personal matters, but it was clear that Poppy was not about to let this go.

"Uh… not really," she mumbled. "He was nice—walked me to the owlery the other night. I offered to let him kiss me."

"Did he?"

"He said only if I wanted him to."

"Sounds simple enough."

"It isn't. You know how much I detest these sort of things."

" _You_ kissed him in front of the paps, Rosie."

"Yes, but it didn't last for a split second. Exactly the way all kisses should be, don't you think?"

Poppy said nothing at this outburst, instead choosing to study Rose with polite interest. Rose cleared her throat, glancing briefly over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "How long did they… I mean, Hugo and Vance… did they go at it for long?"

"They looked bothered enough." Poppy grinned at the uncontained question in Rose's eyes. "What are you really asking?"

It was rather charming to see Rose at such a loss for words. She was usually so sure of herself. Whatever Scorpius was doing to her, Poppy thought, it seemed to be working.

"Scorpius didn't kiss me," Rose said at last.

Poppy said nothing, only stared expectantly at her.

"I kept waiting for it to happen, you know—Wilkins or Hedge never took that long to kiss me. But then he didn't." Rose squirmed at the memory, feeling rather mortified at the fire beneath her cheeks. "It felt like he was teasing me."

"He was."

Rose tilted her head slightly. "Why?"

"Because he's trying to make you want him as much as he wants you."

"It's just a kiss. I _said_ I'd let him—"

"A kiss doesn't mean anything if it's just taken, Rose. It has to be given, too." Poppy raised a sly eyebrow. "Were you thinking about Hippogriffs?"

"Can't say I didn't try." Rose looked up at Poppy with a slow, sheepish smile. "Did… your boyfriends do this with you?"

"I'm not sure you want to hear it. Since one of those boyfriends was James."

"Gross. You're right." Rose surveyed her friend carefully. "You know, don't you? About him and Hertha Rowle?"

Poppy shrugged, not meeting Rose's eyes. "We never would have worked out, anyway. Albus opposed from the start."

Once again, Rose felt a twinge of irritation at her cousin's stubborn dislike for Poppy. Albus was wrong—her friend did not want for connections for social reasons. Rose had always sensed a depth of loneliness in Poppy, a void that James had filled for her once upon a time.

While Poppy had let on that she came from a wealthy muggle household in London, she had never shared any intimate details of her family. Rose suspected there was much that she kept carefully hidden under her good manners. Albus perceived her reticence as arrogance, but Rose knew better. Poppy once revealed that she didn't have the closest of relationships with her family, all of whom were muggles. They were conservative folks, and the idea of a witch in the family did not settle well with them.

While Poppy had never brought up the painful subject again, Rose couldn't help but think that Poppy was perhaps lonelier than she let on.

"He'll come around one day, Poppy," she said at last. "You intimidate him, that's all. He never quite knows how to act around a proper girl."

"What on earth is a proper girl?"

"A girl with your kind of upbringing."

"And what kind is that?"

"The kind that knows which forks to use at a dining table. Albus doesn't even use a fork, I'll have you know."

Poppy shrugged. "I don't care if he likes me."

"Well, I do," Rose said dolefully, earning a chuckle. "He _should_ like you. You're my best friend, and I'm an excellent judge of character. You were good for James, Poppy. Too good, in my opinion."

Poppy looked at Rose with a fond little smile, but said nothing more of the subject. "Well then," she said, much to Rose's chagrin, "shall we get started on Herbology?"


	7. The Date

_Hey guys, sorry for the delay on getting this chapter up! We're getting to the part of the story where I'm struggling a little, and work has been intense so i haven't been able to write fic or post on Tumblr. The reviews have been so lovely - thanks so much for egging me on, it's really keeping me going! :) Let me know if you liked this!_

* * *

 **Chapter 7: The Date**

Where the hell was Rose?

Scorpius folded his arms, eyes narrowed as he surveyed his boisterous surroundings. Across The Three Broomsticks, Hogwarts students were crowded around tables with their Butterbeers and Daisyroot ciders, the chatter reaching impossible decibels in the enclosed space. Scorpius was never quite fond of noisy establishments, but it had been Rose's idea to meet here and Scorpius supposed this was the normal, coupley thing to do. Truthfully, he was so surprised that she'd said yes to a date that he had little objection to her planning it. Whatever those plans were.

Even so. He hated waiting. She was a good twenty minutes late.

Around him, Scorpius could spot a number of familiar faces. Albus was yakking on with Tarquin and Emery Nott at a high table. Even as Tarquin's childhood betrothed, it was rare for Emery to join them on any sort of occasion. She had always been the extraordinarily smart sort, and more often associated with Hogwarts' academic elite, a crowd that included the Head Boy Tristan Shacklebolt.

Scorpius snorted quietly. As loyal as he was to Tarquin, someone as frivolous as his friend was surely excluded from that fray.

Albus had invited Scorpius to join them as he waited for Rose, of course—she's not exactly a stickler for time, was Albus' warning—but Scorpius had declined, instead choosing the discreet corner of the bar. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the idea of a date made his stomach churn.

He hadn't been on a date in over a year. This afternoon, he wasn't in Hogsmeade to _socialise_.

As a matter of fact, he was here to prove a point.

Bloody hell. Where _was_ she?

As he glanced back at the wall clock, the heavy doors swung open. A chilly gust of air invaded the stuffy space, startling a few people located by the bar. Then Rose tumbled in, red hair dotted with snow and her nose pink from the cold. Scorpius could barely hold back from rolling his eyes when Winston Hedge followed her in, wearing a ridiculously smitten expression. Rose blinked, quickly scanning the bar before spotting Scorpius in the darkened corner. Hedge's face fell as she left his side and made her way through the crowd.

It was almost startling to notice that Rose looked about the same as she usually did. Scorpius was not ashamed to admit that he was used to a certain calibre of girl. Most of the women he knew went out of their way to doll up for a date. But Rose looked… well, she was naturally pretty, certainly, but her ordinariness on this supposedly special occasion felt almost disarming. She donned a slightly worn maroon jumper, her too-big headphones tucked right under her matching Gryffindor scarf, and a little wool skirt with furry pockets. Scorpius leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes following her slim, stockinged legs with a mild interest.

Well, he could appreciate a skirt.

"Hi," Rose said, with a breathless little smile. She blinked down at him, the warmth catching up to her cheeks. "Sorry I'm late, I was, uh—"

"Ambushed," Scorpius said smoothly, shifting slightly in the booth to allow space for Rose to join him.

"Well—I don't know if that's what it was." Rose glanced at him, removing her scarf and looking hungrily at his Butterbeer. "May I?"

"Order your own," Scorpius said irritably, but Rose had reached for the mug, relaxing against his side as she gulped down the drink. "And if it's Hedge, it was an ambush."

"He knows I'm with you. He won't try anything."

"Maybe his love for you transcends his fear for my supposed madness." Scorpius plucked the mug from Rose's hands. He didn't know where the pettiness was coming from, but the sight of Hedge with Rose had left him more than a little disgruntled. "Order your own."

"Colette Creevey from Witch Weekly is just right across the bar, I'll have you know. So. _Share_."

"Isn't he afraid I'll hex him?" Scorpius said, ignoring Rose and glaring at a despondent Hedge, who was hovering by the bar and stealing glances their way. "Why are these prats so _obsessed_ with you?"

"Hell if I know," Rose said distractedly, closing her eyes in bliss as she stole another sip from Scorpius' mug. "Mmmm, what is life without Butterbeer?"

Scorpius turned back to her, his clear grey eyes narrowing in exasperation when he spotted her Butterbeer moustache. "Oh—fucksake, Weasley."

"What?"

"Just—come here." Rose's eyes widened, ever so slightly, as his fingers reached behind her neck to pull her closer. Scorpius reached out, dabbing the Butterbeer from above her mouth with his thumb. Her lips left a faded cherry red stain on his skin.

"Vanilla cola," Rose said.

"What?" Scorpius glanced up at her. Like him, she was looking somewhat reverently at the lipstain on his thumb.

"Vanilla cola," she repeated. "The flavour of my lip gloss today."

Scorpius parted his lips, ready to snark back at her, but the brief amusement in her eyes left an unhealthy patter in his chest. There seemed nothing coy about the way she was studying him, and yet there was no doubt that she was, perhaps, testing him.

"So?" he found himself saying, sounding gruffer than he intended.

"Nothing." Rose broke into an impish grin, pulling away abruptly from his hold. "If you're going to tease me, then surely I'm allowed to do the same."

" _What_ are you going on about?"

Rose merely wiggled her eyebrows at him, her crinkling gaze diverting from him when a burst of racuous laughter broke out across the bar. In that moment, Scorpius found himself cursing the fact that they weren't somewhere more private; the very realisation that he wanted to remain the centre of Rose's attention rankled at him.

And Rose was still stealing his Butterbeer, damn her.

"I never knew Zabini was engaged," she said, leaning her slighter shoulder against his own. Again with that careless attitude.

Scorpius forced himself to look away from Rose. "Since he was in diapers."

"Anyone I know?"

"Since when do you gossip?"

"It's either gossip or sitting here in awkward silence waiting for you to not kiss me." Rose tapped her fingers on the table, her cheek warm against his sleeve. "Creevey hasn't stopped looking at us, you know. I think she might keel over any second."

"I don't give a fuck about Creevey." And that was true. At least, not with Rose being so close. Scorpius could blame all of it on the hormones. Or his long-suffering celibacy. Or his own stubbornness, really. Her hair smelled divine; like a winter breeze with a hint of soap and lemon. Bloody hell, there was nothing like a girl, was there? Scorpius felt the familiar tremor of want under his skin, the devil that put the wicked glint in his eyes and sex on his mind. He shifted, ever so slightly, the tip of his nose touching the red strands of her hair.

Vanilla cola. His eyes fell past her just-bitten lips.

Rose was watching him from under her lashes, an odd warmth invading the sweep of her cheekbones. She seemed completely unaware of her effect on him; in kind, he was sure she had no idea why she was blushing, either. _If you're going to tease me, then surely I'm allowed to do the same._ If this was some sort of game, then Scorpius refused to be the one to take the bait. Let Rose lose herself in her silly mind games, he thought savagely. He wouldn't give in.

"You don't care, but your father does." Rose's words, while soft, felt all too stark. "Technically, we're both here to save our reputations."

"Or you could have dated someone like Hedge and got on with it."

"It had to be you." Rose gave him a wry little smile. "If I dated Hedge, the other boys wouldn't stop pestering me."

"So why does Hedge still follow you like a—"

"He says he loves me. So it must be that." The way she said it, so unconcerned and matter-of-fact, made Scorpius' words die on his tongue. "Now tell me. Is Zabini engaged to someone I know?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes at her attempt to change the subject, and leaned his head back against the seat. "Emery."

"Nott?" Rose stared at Scorpius in disbelief. " _Emery_ Nott?"

"Think she's too good for him? Too smart? Too pretty? You're not the only one." Scorpius reached out for the mug, downing the last of the Butterbeer. "Tarquin's a piece of work, but that's how Pureblood families operate. They've been betrothed their whole lives, though I doubt Tarquin cares for her that way." He stared at his friends—Emery's inscrutably poised demeanor compared with Tarquin's brusque, merrymaking howls. "They're incompatible as hell, but neither of them have a say in it. At least they're friends—that's more than a lot of us can ask for."

"And you?"

"I got lucky, I suppose." Scorpius smiled for the first time that day, despite the mockery he felt. "I just get the fake relationships."

Rose opened her mouth to reply, then seemed to decide against it. Instead, they sat there for a few minutes in a strange, companionable silence. Funny, Scorpius thought drily, how he couldn't stand a moment's quiet with his real girlfriends. Every silence had to be punctuated by something physical; in his mind, there was no point otherwise. But he found he didn't quite mind lounging here with Rose. Here, he felt the same wonderful ease at the sunset-drenched library a few weeks ago, where Rose had read his palm and declared him…

"—a jealous psycho, isn't he?"

His eyes shot open. Rose had stiffened against him as the voices carried over the bar noise.

"Jamie, such harsh words!"

"It's true. He almost killed Wallace Bolt!"

A few sighs went around the table, followed by mumbles of agreement.

"…he and Weasley are absolutely perfect for each other, if you ask me. People don't believe the papers about her, but where there's smoke there must be fire—"

"Yes, leading on all those blokes… Say, didn't she lead you on, too?"

"Oh, she's a real tease, that's for sure. But I've never met any girl more daft... she's got no people skills, mate. She's bloody obsessed with animals."

"Bugger me, yeah. Waste of a pretty girl, innit?"

"It's bad enough when a wizard's creature-crazy, but a _witch_ —"

A deep, sickening red was clouding his vision—as furious as he felt about the words said against him, it felt doubly insulting to hear how mean they were about Rose. The conversation was coming from the booth behind them—apparently they had no idea that Rose and Scorpius were on the other side. The more they talked, the more a familiar rage seemed to creep in the corners of his chest, sinking its claws into his very breath. Abruptly, Scorpius moved to get on his feet, venom on the tip of his tongue, but just as swiftly Rose had curled her fingers into his shirtfront to keep him still, her face devoid of the expressiveness he had come to know her for.

"Do you like classical music?" she said, an oddly false cheer in her voice.

And before Scorpius could answer, she had pulled her headphones from her neck and slipped them over his ears.

The music was uncomfortably loud at first. Scorpius shot her a glare, about to demand what the fuck this was about, but the gentle pleading in her cornflower eyes gave him pause. He glanced over at the bar, and there Colette Creevey sat, fluttering her owlish eyes as she watched them.

The rage was a bitter pill, but Scorpius swallowed, turning his grey eyes to hers. "Bach," he said instead, even though he couldn't hear himself. "Orchestral Suite in D Major."

Rose's eyes widened slightly; he could not hear her through the violins, but he could see her mouth, "You know Bach?" He couldn't help feeling amused at her wonderment. Almost without meaning to, he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing past her freckled cheeks… his palms coming to rest over her delicate ears.

Rose blinked in surprise. Scorpius found himself leaning in, hands clasping firmly over her ears. Rose's nose nestled against his collar, her face turning heated under his touch.

Now she wouldn't have to listen to any of that tripe, either.

Bach played, and Rose remained still, fingers caught gently on his wrist. Scorpius felt his insides twist—a horrible childhood sentimentality brought on by the sound of the strings, mixed with the intoxicating nearness of Rose. There was a curious intimacy to their closeness, one that made Scorpius regret his cruel disregard for previous girlfriends… the ones who cried that he shut them out, never quite knowing how to appease their need for _more_ , whatever that was.

He was in the middle of some Mozart when Rose finally removed the headphones. "They're gone," she whispered.

"Great." The bar noise felt like a shock to his system, their current physical contact now feeling dream-like and strange.

And not at all unpleasant.

Rose beamed as she gently pulled his hands from her ears, fingers lingering over his before she let go. "What do you say we get some ice-cream?"

* * *

If Rose was wrong about everything else, at least she was damn right about those blasted sugar violet ice-cream cones from Madam Puddifoot's. It was the most divine thing Scorpius had ever tasted in his life.

"You can't have everything," she was protesting, as he strode away from her, cone in hand. "One lick, you said!"

"You finished my Butterbeer, you owe me."

"Oh, come on, Scorpius—you know I've been looking forward to it all week!"

Scorpius merely barked with laughter, taking another lick of her cone.

Rose stopped in the middle of the street and turned on her heel. "I'm going to get another—"

"I'll just finish that, too."

Rose frowned at him, and Scorpius took another deliberate lick of the unforgivably violet ice-cream cone. "Don't you want it?" he mocked.

"I can't tell if that's you or the ice-cream talking." Rose looked hungrily at the cone. "Seriously. Shall we get another?"

They ended up outside Madam Puddifoot's the second time, with Rose devouring the treat with a delightful enthusiasm that he found rather charming. As he watched her, he found himself asking, somewhat abruptly, "Did you know them?"

Rose wiped the corner of her mouth with her wrist, looking at him in surprise.

"The wankers from The Three Broomsticks."

"One or two of them." Rose seemed to hesitate then, and Scorpius had the distinct impression that she was struggling to understand what had just happened herself. The matter was black and white to him, of course; Scorpius was friends with people he deemed worthy, and dismissed everyone else. Rose, on the other hand, seemed to possess an unhealthy amount of empathy for even lowlifes… as proven by their argument over the idiotic Harlequin Book Club. As Rose stared blearily into space, Scorpius swiped the ice-cream cone from her hand.

"Oh, hell—Scorpius!"

"Dated one of them, then?" Scorpius continued casually, holding the cone above her reach.

"Give me my cone—"

"Answer me and I will."

"I didn't date him per se." Rose was on her tip-toes now, stubbornly reaching for the cone. When Scorpius gave her a pointed look, she lost her footing and found purchase on his arm. "Just Jamie Wilkins, okay? Can I have my cone back?"

Scorpius relented, and Rose leaned back against the shop window, pouting slightly into her dessert. "Well," he said finally, "I suppose he didn't take the rejection too well."

"I don't want to talk about it, if that's alright." Rose gave her cone a despondent lick. "I always thought him a friend, though."

"Blokes rarely want to be just friends with girls."

"That's rather sexist."

"I'm not saying it doesn't happen. I'm just saying it's rare. Mind you, I grew up with Tarquin. I've seen everything he's done to get laid." Scorpius idly dusted the snow off his shoulders. "You can't blame me for being sceptical."

Around them, Hogsmeade was thrumming with activity. It was a brilliant afternoon; despite the snowfall, everything seemed to be touched by a warm noon glow. Hogwarts students milled past them in groups, leaving footprints in the snow. Occasionally, they stole startled glances at Rose and Scorpius and whispered among themselves. Scorpius supposed he and Rose were beyond caring at this point.

"How did you know Bach, anyway?" Rose's tendency to skip uncomfortable subjects was not lost on Scorpius. If she was going to be stubborn about it, fine. He would tuck the subject of Jamie Wilkins away for the time being… and pounce on it again when the time was right.

"I studied music my whole life," he said shortly. "Started before I could even walk."

Rose seemed to light up at this. "You play?"

"Piano. Violin. Some cello, but only because my grandmother made me." He couldn't help but make a face. "I'm nowhere near as good as my mother, of course. She knows something like seven instruments."

"I never got a chance to learn. My parents aren't the musical sort."

"Well, consider it a blessing. I've had enough of my grandmother kicking up a fuss when I skipped my piano lessons to play a round of Quidditch."

Rose was watching him as though he was one of her silly creatures trapped in a glass jar, so keenly that she hadn't noticed the melted ice-cream trailing into the crevices of her fingers. "…So you don't like music."

"You can be good at something without ever loving it." For a moment all he could recall was Georgia's smiling face, and the doting expression in her eyes every time she looked at him… she was that elusive affection he had sought for for years. Georgia knew perfectly how to play up on the qualities he found most attractive in a girl; she was good at being who he wanted her to be. But she had never loved him, at least not in the way he demanded of her.

How delusional he was.

It was pathetic, he thought bleakly, to be feeling sorry for himself when he was on a date.

Rose seemed to notice the melancholic turn in their conversation. She cleared her throat, leaning back against the dusky glass window of Madam Puddifoot's and hesitating for a moment. Then—"He was my first kiss. Jamie, I mean."

Somehow the revelation didn't shock Scorpius. He supposed Jamie Wilkins spoke of Rose with a vengeance that reminded him of the bitterness he felt for Georgia. "I thought you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't. But you look like you need the company. We can be miserable together."

"So it was an ambush."

"Oh no." Rose glanced sheepishly at him. "I _liked_ Jamie. At least, I thought I did. I just didn't like to kiss him... and, well, later on I realised that maybe I just didn't like to kiss at all. And that's not a very appealing quality to boys, is it."

Scorpius snorted. "That hasn't stopped your admirers."

"They have this incredibly unrealistic impression of me." Scorpius could hear the familiar despondence in her voice at the topic. "They think I'm this funny, odd girl… that they can change me, that everything I do is part of some quirky performance that will go away when I become their girlfriend. They don't realise that—"

"That you're really as bizarre as advertised?"

"Well—yeah." Rose shrugged helplessly as she finished the last of her ice-cream cone. "Boys do that all the time, you know."

"What?"

"Expect too much. Or expect something else completely."

"And girls are incapable of getting straight to the point."

Rose shot him a disbelieving look. "That's not true."

"Then tell Winston Hedge firmly that he hasn't a bat's chance in hell. You tolerate his behavior—"

"I didn't ask him to follow me!"

"—and it makes him think what he's doing is acceptable. You have to be cruel to be kind sometimes."

"How on _earth_ am I supposed to—"

"Tell him you fancy me."

Rose looked outraged at his words, gaping like a goldfish as Scorpius folded his arms casually in front of him. He tried not to feel too pleased at her indignance; she was truly a sight when she was worked up. A lovely colour was rising up her cheeks, and her bright blue eyes were squinted in a rather comical manner as she spotted Hedge across the street trying to look invisible against the bricks. "...Oh, Merlin."

"Or shall we show him instead?" Scorpius asked with a coy raise of his eyebrow.

Rose paused, jaw slack and wide-eyed. "Are you testing me?" she demanded.

Scorpius felt a tug in the corner of his lips. In one stride, he had closed in on her. Rose stilled, her shallow breaths white and warm between them.

From a distance, he heard an audible gasp. Probably Hedge.

His sudden proximity had Rose stumbling back against the glass. From inside the shop, student couples on dates gawked at them from their marble tables.

"Pygmy," Rose uttered in a daze. Scorpius felt the laughter rise in his throat at the somewhat-terror in her eyes. She had all the bravado in the world... but she wasn't kidding about hating to be kissed.

Oh, how _fun_ it was to tease her.

"Imp," he mocked, closing the distance between them with an almost cat-like prowl, hands pressing gently against the glass on either side of her.

"Sprite," Rose said faintly, her voice barely above a whisper as their gazes locked.

Scorpius tilted his head with the barest of smirks.

Behind them, camera flashes went off like fireworks.


	8. The Payback

_Personal thank yous to my reviewers – Lola, GumihoGold, Mme bookworm, Rae Ella, LyntD, B. Vi, LillyMay77, Blood and Dark Chocolate, hpdude-4life, vaaleee, habababa, baronnis, Ray, Moccalove, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, and Jele18! Some of you are regular reviewers and I just feel so appreciative, sobs._

 _Anyway, things are getting interesting, I hope! Some people have made predictions but you'll just have to read on and see if you can detect the scandals as they come ;)_

* * *

 **Chapter 8: The Payback**

 _Pygmy, Doxy, Imp, Sprite…_

 _Fwooper, Serpent, Cockatrice…_

"Scorpius," she whispered.

Scorpius raised his gaze to meet hers, ice grey darkened to pewter. Behind him, wand flashes and wizard cameras flickered and flared in slow motion, as though the world felt equally stunned by his closeness. A wild, coiling panic rolled in Rose's gut. _Too near. Too much. Too long._ For a moment, a shudder of repulsion tingled under her skin—one that often threatened to overwhelm her whenever she was caught in an ambush with a boy.

"Too close," she heard herself say, a quiet urgency in her voice. "Scorpius."

Scorpius must have heard her, but he didn't heed her in the least. Instead he closed his eyes and merely inched that little bit closer, his breath warm against her lips. The world, already slowing to a pause, seemed to fade away with the wicked tug in the corner of his lips. Oh, he was going to kiss her, Rose thought faintly, shutting her eyes.

This was it, then.

"Won't you make it quick?" she choked out, squirming against him.

"When I do kiss you," she heard Scorpius murmur, his hands clasping gently over her slight hipbones as if to calm her, "it's going to be anything but quick."

She would have taken the time to ponder the words, but there were too many physical distractions… and not all of them unpleasant. How could someone who looked so cold exude such a warm presence? The very closeness of him was a contradiction to her senses. Her mind screamed for him to step back and return her right to her personal space—yet every other part of her buzzed from an intoxicating mixture of elation and curiosity. Unconsciously, she sought the familiarity of his cologne… something woodsy and clean that reminded her of their afternoon in the Forbidden Forest, underlined by a warm, sun-soaked musk that was unmistakably masculine.

From a distance, she could hear the paparazzi call her name. _Rose, Rose, look this way…!_ But she could barely remember where she was now, so fascinated she was with the living, breathing vitalness of the man before her. Scorpius' lips were now sweeping ever so lazily across the shell of her ear… yet she could detect the infinitesimal hitch in the rhythm of his breath, feel the pulsing heat course through his chest as he pressed gently against her.

He was anything but calm, and for some reason this pleased Rose.

At least she wasn't the only one reeling.

Boy, was she reeling.

"We'll be front page news tomorrow, you know," Scorpius said, and the gravel in his lowered voice caused the softest of tumbles in her stomach—"but Father will be pleased."

"That you're kissing a hussy?" Rose deadpanned.

"Oh, a reformed hussy," he corrected with a sly smile. "She's mad about only me."

The humour in his glance seemed to thaw the usual frost in his gaze; the aristocratic haughtiness that she was so used to now reduced to an oddly appealing boyishness. Before, he was merely handsome; now there was something in him that was almost endearing. There was the littlest of trembles under her lungs, not unlike the thrill she felt when she discovered her academic obsession with Grindylows… Suddenly, she found herself wanting to memorise this side of him, to examine and dissect later, in the petri dish of her pillow.

Afterwards, she would berate herself for acting out her inner Nora Mullen and Gwendolyn Wick, but for now—she could do nothing but stare at him in some sort of silly awe.

Then, as quickly as it all happened, Scorpius' hand found hers, and the late autumn air was once more stinging her cheeks. Briefly, she mourned the loss of his warmth. He tugged her wordlessly down High Street—past the clamouring paparazzi and maddening crowd of people gawking at them—before coming to stop by a narrow alcove hidden along Dervish & Banges. Rose had the distinct impression that he had taken refuge here before—perhaps with an ex-girlfriend.

As she joined him in the nook, catching her breath, she took a moment to absorb her surroundings. There was a tad more privacy at this end of Hogsmeade; people tended to stick to the west side of the village, where The Three Broomsticks was located.

Rose exhaled in relief before looking up at Scorpius. Even now, her hands were tingling from his touch. "You know, you could you warn a girl next time."

"You didn't warn _me_ the first time. Consider this payback."

"Well, now we're even."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement crinkling in the corners of his eyes. "We're even when I say we are, Weasley."

Rose chewed her bottom lip, frowning slightly. "I think Winston got the message."

"I think the whole of Hogsmeade got the message."

"What do you think the headlines will be? _Weasley-Malfoy PDA stuns village?_ "

" _Ron Weasley dies of heart attack._ "

"Merlin, you're right… my dad's going to lose it. What about ' _Teenage dream, public nightmare'_?"

"Or they could go with something more conversational. ' _What would their parents think?_ ', perhaps?"

"I'm betting on sensational. ' _Caught! Hussy and the Unhinged!'_ "

They looked at each other for moment before bursting out laughing, so hard that they had to find purchase against the brick wall on either side of them. Rose wiped a tear from her eye, gasping for breath.

Scorpius was watching her, the mirth fading from his face. Then, he reached forward, fingers curling in her hair. Rose blinked as he lifted a long lock of red to his nose.

"What shampoo do you use?" he mumbled, his eyes falling close.

"O'Keafe's," Rose said automatically. She had used the same brand of shampoo since she was eleven. _O'Keafe's or nothing_ , she had once declared, as pedestrian and unwomanly as Lily claimed lemon scents to be. A pause, then—"Um, do you like it?"

The lock of hair slipped from his fingers. Rose combed her own digits through the strands, an awkward sense of self-awareness returning to her.

How odd. She didn't care if Scorpius liked her shampoo.

Buckbeak did—he told her so, in that lovely cawing voice of his. And Arnold The Third, who loved to sit in her hair during bedtime, had yet to issue a complaint.

That was all that mattered, really.

Yet there was that odd jump in her insides when Scorpius turned away from her with a sideways smile.

"It's different," he said.

* * *

What a kerfuffle.

Even from where Tarquin was standing by the shops, the drama was beyond ridiculous.

Just across the street, he could recognise the familiar silver gold of his best friend's hair, glinting like moonshine against the camera and flashes. Hogsmeade was no stranger to the paparazzi—it was, after all, big money to feature updates on the lives of famous names, especially to fans of the wizarding socialites.

And kissing Rose Weasley always made front page. Even if Tarquin couldn't really see if Scorpius was really snogging her from this angle.

He squinted.

Well, it sure as hell looked legit.

Inwardly, he thanked his lucky stars that Albus was still stuck inside Zonko's stocking up on criminal supplies.

Albus might be in on this wayward plot, but seeing Scorpius intimate with his favourite cousin was sure to trigger his gag reflex, at the very least.

As Scorpius pulled away from Rose, she looked flushed into the roots of her hair. Adorably thunderstruck as she gazed up at Scorpius, whose expression Tarquin couldn't catch.

The scores of pedestrians crowding around the couple blocked Tarquin's view for the next few moments, before he spotted Scorpius and Rose hand-in-hand, dodging shouting paps and starstruck students.

Huh. They looked exactly like a harried young couple in the thick of things, dying from the lack of privacy. Surely that was a moment that required a little acting, to rile up the press' thirst for the mystery that lay behind their get-together.

Fine acting indeed.

A smile played lightly across Tarquin's lips as he watched them go—Scorpius' fingers curled into Rose's, his cloak billowing behind him as Rose ambled forward to catch up to his lengthy strides, their heads turned towards each other in an oddly private manner… the sight of them was fascinating to Tarquin, who only remembered girls of a more statuesque height accompanying his friend.

How incompatible they looked, he thought sardonically.

His friend would do well to be careful. Scorpius might have a type—the Plumes type, as Albus liked to say with a roll of his eyes—but Rose Weasley was something else.

After all, she had a reputation for a reason.

Before Rose, Scorpius had never bothered to look at girls that didn't fit a certain… mold, to say the least. And neither had Tarquin, to be quite frank. The pair of them had always shared a preference for the leggy and lean. Women that oozed a certain sensuality and feminine mystery. Perhaps it was their brutal upbringing within the Pureblooded aristocracy that had instilled a preference for heels over sneakers.

His thoughts took a pleasant turn to flings of the past as he observed the media circus drift away from the scene. It was, therefore, a surprise of sorts when he was jolted out of his reverie by a small "oof!"—and a shock of familiar red hair.

Tarquin instinctively reached out—he was raised a gentleman, mind—and found himself face-to-face with a harried, bespectacled Hugo Weasley.

The younger boy seemed completely bewildered by their collision. Clearly, he wasn't watching where he was going. As Tarquin gripped his arm to steady him, Hugo merely spluttered, "OhmygodImsosorry."

"It's fine," Tarquin said graciously, ignoring the mugglespeak that his mother so often complained was a stain to wizarding vocabulary. "Are you looking for Albus?"

"Albus?" Hugo looked completely baffled by this, at least until Tarquin gestured to the shop window, where Albus could be spotted paying at the counter. "Oh! No, I…" he straightened out his cloak, trailing off as the redness splotched ungracefully across his cheeks.

When Hugo failed to answer the question, Tarquin followed his unfocused gaze, humming in comprehension as he spotted Kirkpatrick Vance just a few feet away, talking animatedly with a girl. Tarquin knew Vance—their parents ran in the same social circles, and they often met each other on the Quidditch pitch.

Tarquin's inquisitive eyes found Hugo then, who only continued to look at Vance with an unmasked misery.

Ah. So it was Vance that Hugo was fooling around with the other night.

Even while Langdon was chiding Tarquin for staying out late for the very same reason—he had been out with fifth-year knockout named Julienne Taft—the pair of them had stumbled on Hugo kissing a boy in the shadows. Tarquin hadn't been able to see who it was, and he was honestly rather disinterested at the time. But now the puzzle was complete in his mind.

A well-built, heavyset figure slightly taller than twig-like Hugo Weasley.

Kirkpatrick Vance. Of course.

The mental image of the two young men making out stirred something in Tarquin then… a disturbing sensation that should feel like disgust, yet instead rooted itself in pity, at least for Hugo. The young Weasley boy was still pressed against his arm, long lashes fanning damp brown eyes behind his wireframe glasses. He was wearing the face of a jilted lover in some grotesque Shakespearean play. How sweet, Tarquin thought with a mocking glint in his eye.

And how terribly naïve.

"He has a girlfriend, you know," he murmured. Hugo tensed beside him, turning so quickly that he almost gave Tarquin a whiplash—as though he had just noticed Tarquin's presence. Tarquin coolly returned his panicked stare, momentarily curious about Albus' overachieving cousin.

He had never paid attention to Hugo. Oh, he was famously intelligent, that much was true. Despite his status as a media darling, Hugo was not the type of person Tarquin sought as a friend, or even an acquaintance. There was an irreproachability about him that annoyed Tarquin… in those cherubic features and wildly freckled cheeks, with pillowy lips that he was now biting red. Charming laughter lines accented those keen brown eyes, rising at the ends to meet the unruly curls of his red hair.

Tarquin didn't like any of it one bit.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hugo stuttered then, drawing away abruptly from Tarquin's side. Tarquin held up his hands, as though in surrender, taking a gallant step back. Hugo shot him a dirty look—as dirty as his angelic countenance allowed, anyway—and hurried off, his red hair catching the wind as he went.

Funny how Albus never mentioned Hugo played for the same team.

Funny how _Tarquin_ never noticed until now. He had always prided himself on being a good observer.

"Hey, wasn't that Hugo?"

He snapped out of his reverie as Albus threw an arm over his shoulder, holding a huge purple bag with ZONKO'S emblazoned in the front. "Yeah," Tarquin said, hoping he sounded casual. "Said hey, is all."

"Shocked he didn't take your ear off," Albus said. "He usually has more to say."

Tarquin shrugged. He was not interested in pursuing the subject any longer. "Got everything?"

Albus guffawed. The bag rustled beside him. "Crossley's going to kill us."

* * *

"Here we are," Scorpius said.

Before they knew it, curfew had arrived, and Rose found herself back at the foot of Gryffindor Tower. Somehow, she and Scorpius had spent the day together without a moment to spare.

And it had been… unexpectedly nice.

"I'm glad you're now enlightened on the wonders of sugared violet ice-cream," Rose said brightly.

"I didn't like it _that_ much."

Rose raised an amused eyebrow. "And yet you stole all of mine."

"I was hungry, imp."

"Bloody _hell_. It's alright for a bloke to like something from Madam Puddifoot's, you know."

Scorpius said nothing, merely returning her smile. Rose met his eyes, transfixed. The hallway was drenched with a sunset glow, and served only to highlight his lovely, fine-boned features. For the first time that day, she noticed the expensive cut of his jumper, and how perfectly tailored it was to his tall, broad frame. And, unlike most boys, Scorpius seemed to reject denim, instead donning a pair of impeccably pressed trousers.

Rose felt her cheeks heat up suddenly. Had he dressed up for their date?

…How was it that she only noticed it now?

Maybe she really should be paying more attention.

It was then that Rose noticed Hugo over Scorpius' shoulder, standing alone in the empty hallway and surveying them with the strangest of expressions. He looked startled at the sight of them.

As though he'd just been slapped.

"Hugo?" Rose said tentatively, stepping away from Scorpius.

But Scorpius caught her wrist and tugged her to him. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said in an undertone.

For some reason, this move only made Hugo redden further. Rose nodded at Scorpius, who turned away and made for the hallway in lengthy strides. As Scorpius passed, Hugo exhaled shakily, looking close to some sort of hysteria.

"Hugo," Rose said urgently, taking his arm. "What happened?"

Hugo stared back at her with glazed eyes. It scared her to see him this way; Hugo was usually so full of joy. She tightened her hold on him. "Hugo," she pleaded softly. "Please talk to me."

Wordlessly, Hugo burst into tears.

"You're not even real," he blurted, through his muffled sobs.

"What are you talking about? Hugo…"

"You and Scorpius—aren't even in a real relationship. And yet you can go on dates like it's normal, like it's _allowed_ , whereas I—"

At Hugo's tears, all the heady, pleasant feelings she felt by Scorpius' side seemed to evaporate. Instinctively, Rose threw her arms around her brother. His aches was just as good as her own; it tore at her to see him heartbroken. "Hugo," she whispered in a hush. "Oh, Hugo."

"I'm sick of hiding," Hugo mumbled into her shoulder, breaths skittering. "Rosie, I'm so sick of boys."

"Is it Vance?" she asked softly. Although she had known in her gut Vance would never acknowledge what he had with Hugo, she knew Hugo's heartbreak was necessary. He had always been flamboyant about his relationships with ex-girlfriends—the same simply wasn't acceptable for his attraction to boys.

Unfortunately, Vance had to be the one to show him. Briefly, Rose was filled with murderous contempt for the Hufflepuff Beater. How could anyone bear to hurt someone as sweet as Hugo? It was beyond her.

"He didn't look at me once," Hugo continued blearily, as Rose rocked him in her arms. "All he did was snog his stupid girlfriend. The same girlfriend he says has funky breath and a snout nose!"

"He's awful," Rose murmured, unable to resist a smile at Hugo's spite.

"I can't bear it," he hissed thickly. "I should just stick with girls."

"Lucky you. I don't have that choice."

Hugo sniffed as Rose wiped up his snot with her sleeve. "Lucky _you_ , with all those boys throwing themselves at your feet, only to die of heartbreak when you reject them…"

Rose linked arms with Hugo as they started up the steps of Gryffindor Tower. "Not anymore. Thank Merlin."

"The Scorpius Effect, I suppose." Hugo raised a critical eyebrow, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. "Though I must say, you two look cosy for a fake relationship."

"Not so loud. And we absolutely do not."

"Do too. I almost threw up back there at the way you were looking at each other. The only other time I saw you look at someone like that was when a Wrackspurt flew into Teddy's ear and smacked his brains about for an hour."

Rose grinned at the memory before ducking her head. "Scorpius is… very handsome," she admitted haltingly. "You said so yourself."

"He made Witch Weekly's 20 Wizards Under 20 list. Of course he's handsome. The very least he can do, really." Hugo sighed heavily, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. "God and Merlin combined, I want my very own bachelor already."

Rose tugged Hugo close, leaning her forehead against her brother's cheek. "I'll be sure to have some Slug Solution in Vance's tea tomorrow morning."

"Or a Belly Balloon Potion. He'll sob like a baby if he can't attend Quidditch."

"What about Uncle George's Zealous Zits Special?" She thought about it for a moment. "Maybe all three?"

Hugo let out a watery laugh, squeezing Rose's hand. "I can't have a bloody boyfriend," he said, voice quaking slightly, "but I suppose I'd rather have you." He smiled mistily at Rose. "If Scorpius hurts you, he's dead."

 _I don't like him enough to get hurt,_ Rose wanted to say, but somehow the words got caught on her tongue.

Shaking away the thought, she took Hugo's hand and led him away to the common room.


	9. The Ex

_Yikes, this took awhile! This is an interlude of sorts, so it's a bit shorter than the other chapters._

 _Thank you so much to Elacartier, emeraldhead-crimsonheart, b, ntlpurpolia, Isoldaa, xxG30rg13xx, hpdude-4life (your comments always give me life!), toolazytologin, habababa, Ray, GumihoGold, B. Vi, Jele18, untiltheskyfallsdownonme, esthela5, isaltigdiaz, Vyxien, waterlily18-OTPscorose, smbek13, bright places, The Hogwarts Train to Anywhere, ChanceToBeImmortal, rossiex, raspberryrainx3 and the many wonderful anons and guests who reviewed! :)_

 _Isoldaa – I won't abandon this! My updates come slow, but I love this fic and will try my best to finish it for sure :)_

 _untiltheskyfallsdownonme –Your review, oh my! Time will tell…_

* * *

 **Chapter 9: The Ex**

 _Fifth year_

It was snowing from the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Around Scorpius, the space was alive with the sounds of clinking glasses and the hum of incessant chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter. People grooved easily to the music, a lively set led by the boisterous tunes of the band Vexed Fairies. Mistletoes floated above the dance floor, turning it into a minefield of potential mischief. Somewhere in the centre of it, Tarquin and Albus were having the time of their lives, kissing girls and dancing like fools. Not a care in the world.

Scorpius stood on the edge of it all, observing the proceedings of the Yule Ball with the jadedness of someone much older. He was sixteen, but a ball like this was one of hundreds for him. These things only reminded him of the dull affairs organised by his grandparents; get-togethers reserved for the weak-chinned, pursed-lip set of Pureblooded aristocrats from all across Europe, desperately doing the most to secure dignified marriages for their offspring. Anything to keep their blood blue and names afloat.

It was galling for Scorpius, even as a child, to discover that his best friend Tarquin was not spared from this banal tradition. Needless to say, he found it most gratifying to befriend Albus when he got into Hogwarts, who was closer to Mudblood than Pureblood according to Lucius, yet boasted a family reputation built on the goodness of their hearts, rather than their blood type.

The night was still young. But already Scorpius felt the itchy heat under his collar, the dangerous twist in his stomach at odds with the bright and cheerful atmosphere of the Yule Ball. Beneath the tailored finery of his robes, his heart was in a state of chaos, every beat decimating the last of his self-esteem.

Georgia was nowhere to be found.

The sickening, all too familiar mixture of anxiety and fiery possessiveness rose in his gut, driving his need to find her, have her in her arms, locked between the length of him and the silk sheets of his bed. To cage her up. The more she ran, the angrier he got. _You're unhinged_ , a voice whispered. Scorpius flinched, pretending that it wasn't Georgia herself who once spoke the words.

So be it. He would not rest until he found her.

He was tired of it, of fighting Georgia's lackadaisical outlook, her non-committal affection dragging him back and forth like an animal on a leash. He wanted her surrender to his passion, but now the fire he felt for her seemed to be lapping against his very flesh and turning his heart to ashes.

He had always been a possessive child, of toys and books and even his own parents. How furious he was whenever Lucius privately referred to their love as soiled and degrading. Too young he had learned that love was poorly regarded within aristocratic circles, treated as a disease that got in the way of refined breeding. But Scorpius had always admired his parents' relentless dedication to each other, hearts worn on their sleeves even when others were in the room.

Yet every summer was spent resenting his grandparents' attempts to poison his young mind against his parents. Whenever Lucius spouted his nonsense, it was his mother's low voice that he remembered. _Your father is my first love_ , she liked to say, as Draco watched her whisper into little Scorpius' ear, his impassive expression melting away into something that made Scorpius' own heart twinge.

His parents loved him, surely, but not in the intense manner they adored each other—an almost visceral hunger that Scorpius could only understand as he grew older. They plyed him with toys and attention, everything a child could want, but it was their passionate connection he envied and vied for. Because, like Draco, Scorpius had it too—the fearsome desire to be loved in whole, and to return that love in full. He grew up believing that finding a love like his parents' was a matter of time… that it was his very entitlement as his father's son.

He would refuse any less.

Georgia Plumes was the first girl he wanted to marry. She was just his type—undisputedly gorgeous, a leggy physique, and possessed a delightful playfulness that coloured their sex life. They had started out strong, with her writhing body under his for a good part of the year, her moans often intertwined with his own incoherent declarations. Albus thought they were moving things too quickly; Tarquin was utterly sure she was just a fling. But as far as Scorpius was concerned, he was in love. And he fucked her the way he wanted to be loved; passionately and tenderly, like she was worth the world. While his feelings for her had burnt deeper with each kiss, her own had only cooled with time.

He wanted all of her, to close the distance between her heart and their physical chemistry. But everything he did only served widen the chasm between them.

And now here he was, starved of her affection like a pathetic toerag.

His dire thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a redhead in a wisp of a dress, shimmying in the middle of the dancefloor with a circle of admirers. How unburdened she looked. Love must come easily to someone like her, he thought, letting his gaze follow the blinking shimmer of her dress as she was twirled about by Roland Cliff.

For a moment, Scorpius was blissfully distracted by the sight… he had never thought the famously odd Rose Weasley as pretty, but there was certainly a charm about her tonight. Not in a typical way, either. There was an openness in her crinkling eyes; a sincere expressiveness that was almost sweet. Roland Cliff looked utterly smitten by her as she twirled back into his arms with a sheepishly impish smile.

Even the strange ones could be loved, he thought wryly.

What was so wrong with him?

He was hit by a sour bout of loneliness so acute he had to look away, stepping out to the darkened entrance of the Great Hall to dwell in his bad mood.

Then, like a vision, she appeared in the hallway. The moonlight highlighted the sequined accents in her dress, and there a sparkle in her eyes as she spoke to the person beside her in lowered tones.

His heart sank. She was with someone else.

Of course. With Georgia, there was always someone else.

"Georgia," Scorpius said, reaching for her as she neared. "Georgia—"

"Don't," Georgia said, abruptly pulling away from him. The pleasure in her expression had peeled away when she set her gaze on Scorpius. The realisation ate away at him, the heat in his collar slowly rising to his cheeks.

"Where did you disappear off to again?" He could barely hide his fury as Wallace Bolt paused behind Georgia and began to backtrack away from them. "Georgia, come on—"

"Don't you think you're being _so_ needy?" And the lack of warmth in her eyes did nothing to quell the red rage filling his vision.

"What the _hell_ were you doing with Bolt?"

A warning flashed in her eyes before she turned away from him. "Maybe it's none of your business."

In the distance, the dancing had ceased, the lively music now punctuated by curious stares. But Scorpius was too caught up in the shock of her words to register.

"You're my girlfriend," he heard himself bellow. "You're not supposed to be with someone else!"

On the periphery, there was a collective gasp as Roland Cliff kissed a shocked Rose Weasley under a floating mistletoe. But Scorpius kept his eyes trained on Georgia, who only glared back at him with such contempt that it could never be mistaken for anything but ire.

"That's it. _Let go of me!_ " she exploded, wringing her arm from his hold. Heads turned back in their direction—more gasps. "Listen closely, Scorpius Malfoy. You were a good fuck but I never loved you. This whole thing was in your head. _Nobody_ tells me what to do."

He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from leaving, a white-hot desperation writhing his insides, threatening to stamp out his outrage. "No, Georgia, listen to me—"

She shoved him aside. "Leave me alone. I'm fucking done with you."

The anger collapsed under something else then—a sort of empty, numb blackness. Not even the sight of Bolt hurrying after Georgia could cut into the ringing in his ears. When the words came, they betrayed a tremor in his own voice that he didn't recognise. "Georgia. _Please._ "

She didn't even glance over her shoulder as she stormed into the Great Hall.

The rest of Hogwarts, however, stared back at him.

* * *

Scorpius sprang up from his bed, breaths shallow and skin damp. Around him, snores sounded around the dormitory, Albus' signature snorts coming at intervals. From beyond the curtains, a pale greenish light caressed the darkened room, echoes of the Great Lake sighing beyond the walls. Scorpius rubbed his face, willing the panic between his lungs to dissapate. He glanced at the clock.

Sunday. It was still too early.

He'd been woken up by a nightmare. Or rather, a memory…

Georgia's lovely face, twisted in fury, seared the back of his eyelids with blinding force. His heart lurched to his stomach, a quivering ache that throbbed through him like an aftershock.

In the name of Salazar. It's been close to a year and a half, and he was still hurting over that girl.

This was madness. He had to get over her—shake off the hold she had on him somehow. It was meaningless to pine after someone who cared nothing for him.

 _Grovelling isn't the way to win someone's favour_ , Draco had said, after the last of his anger at the screaming headlines had waned. _It was quite possibly the worst thing you could do, Scorpius._

Scorpius closed his eyes at the memory, humiliation burning in the back of his throat.

Sleep would not return to him. So Scorpius made his way to the bathroom, thinking that perhaps a round on his broomstick would do him some good.

But first, breakfast.

He left the common room in a daze, the awful memories plaguing his mood. The hallways were still devoid of people. As he neared the Great Hall, hands shoved in his pockets to keep the cold from his fingers, he looked up and froze.

She was still a distance away, but Georgia Plumes was walking in his direction. If she'd seen him, she did not acknowledge his presence, merely keeping her eyes trained to the side as she sauntered towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

Towards the spot where she had tossed him aside like he was nothing.

It was ridiculous to react to her this way. Any normal person would ignore an ex, but for Scorpius the sight was as visceral as being knocked into a Pensieve. He hated that she looked well-rested and unruffled; hated that she looked perfectly sane, haunted by none of the self-loathing that clung to him like a second skin. It was unbearable. Scorpius paused mid-step, only to—

"Oof."

Rose was rubbing her nose behind him, glancing up at him with a mock crossness. "There goes my surprise," she said.

"What?" Scorpius stared down at her, his mind completely somewhere else. Rose smiled—that sweet impish smile—and suddenly he was transported back to the sillyness of their Hogsmeade date. Sugared violet ice-cream cones. Classical tunes. Bloody gossips and nosy paparazzi.

The lemon scent of her red hair.

"I was going to surprise you," Rose was saying. "Was hoping to jump out behind you and scare you a little, but—" she paused then, registering the glazed grey of his eyes; the conflicted flicker in his expression. Rose blinked, concerned. "Scorpius. Are you alright?"

Without thinking, Scorpius reached out for her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

 _Relief._

Rose squeaked against his shoulder, hands pressed against his chest.

"Don't move." In his arms, Rose stilled. She was so small; so much slighter than Georgia. So much less to hold on to. Scorpius released a shuddering breath, lowering his head to her shoulder and breathing in the lemon fresh scent of her hair. Without realising it, his fingers had gripped desperately into her oversized jumper.

"Scorpius," Rose murmured, cautiously, not unlike how she'd tend to a hurting Hippogriff. The tips of her fingers came in contact with his cheek. "Is something wrong?"

His lips brushed against her neck. "Tell me about Sasquatches."

"Here?" She sounded confused. "Like, right now?"

"Yeah."

"People are staring, you know."

"Nothing they haven't already seen in the papers."

"True…" Rose's voice trailed off as she spotted Georgia approach the entrance. Perhaps she'd put two and two together then; he saw her gaze trained curiously on the other girl before flitting back to Scorpius.

For one pendulous moment, Scorpius was sure she was going to pry.

But then she said, "They're found on the alps."

Relief filled him, and Scorpius closed his eyes. "Swiss?"

"Spotted on the French one, too. They're quiet, solitary things. They leave home when they're a year old, and rarely meet another one of their kind for years. So when they mate, they mate for life. Of course, these are just theories from the wizards who claim to have sighted them. No one has ever got them on a picture. I suppose they're elusive that way."

He turned his head, ever so slightly, his nose now buried in the tender spot under her ear. "My family owns a property in the French Alps," he mumbled.

"How lucky." He could hear the earnesty in her voice. "Maybe you'll spot one, one day?"

"I could take you with me." Even as the words left him, he tensed ever so slightly.

 _Don't you think you're being_ so _needy?_

Rose didn't react to the words, merely hummed under her breath. In his mind's eye he could see Rose wrapped up in a warm, heavy coat, his scarf around her neck… excitedly pointing out some grumpy, hairy creature in the distance… getting adorably agitated when Scorpius pretended not to spot it…

The impossibility of it made Scorpius want to laugh.

An untold longing clutched within his chest, before dying out.

Perhaps she sensed his sadness, the soft-hearted little thing that she was, because her thumb was stroking gently at his cheek, as though coaxing him away from his awful thoughts. "I suppose you could," she said.

Scorpius pulled away slowly, his face close to hers, and felt the familiar scorn return to his gaze. "You're considering it?" he said in disbelief.

"Are you taking back your offer already?" Rose returned. Behind them, more students were passing through to enter the Great Hall for breakfast. Rose glanced at them, and Scorpius tried to ignore the part of him that willed her to look only at him.

No. Not with Rose, he reminded himself.

This wasn't real.

And yet he couldn't help the way his heart skipped when her eyes met his once more, this time twinkling with a certain mischief.

"What are you up to, imp?" he said in a low tone, unable to resist catching her hand and tugging her close.

"Not much," Rose said, barely suppressing a giggle. "Though maybe Hugo and I, um, have a few things planned this morning. You'll see." She began stepping back into the Great Hall, pulling him along with her. "Have breakfast with me. You'll cheer right up. Trust me."

She smiled at him, and Scorpius couldn't find it in him to say no.


End file.
